Foundations
by HollyThorn
Summary: *eighth year fic* Harry, Hermione, Hannah and Draco are called together under suspicious circumstances. With new and old problems abound, how will the strange quartet fare in a new post-war life? Especially when the Founders and ancient blood magic are somehow involved...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. J.K.R. literally has it all.

* * *

Hermione Granger absent-mindedly trailed her fingers along the cool, grainy stone behind her as she stared out across the Scottish highland scenery. She allowed her brain to numbly drink in the view of the mass of greenery glowing orange as the sun began to set. She inhaled deeply, absorbing the smell and slight coolness of the late-August evening air at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Hermione let out the breath with deep contentment; everything was going to be okay.

The repairs and rebuilding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seemed like a long and gruelling project, but as soon as all volunteers had delved into their delegated tasks, the workload depleted significantly and the historic castle was restored within two months. Hermione had been at the forefront of the damage repairs, along with now Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, and Deputy Head, Professor Flitwick. Together they had arranged teams and placed them in different parts of the castle to work. It had been intense and a lot of planning had occurred, but organising and Hogwarts were both things Hermione Granger was passionate about, and she had found the task almost enjoyable, if it hadn't also been a daily reminder of all the horrible things that had happened there.

Earlier that day there had been a final meeting where after a last minute check-over happened to ensure that everything was truly back in place in time for the opening ceremony at the Welcome Ball the following week. Apart from a few dust piles in empty classrooms, it had been clear. So there Hermione was – finished her task of restoring her home and school – admiring the fantastic view of the school grounds from the Astronomy Tower at sunset on a Sunday evening.

There had not many changes been made to the original structure of the school, but the Astronomy Tower had definitely been one of them. After the events of her sixth year, no one had felt the same visiting after it, so all planning parties agreed that a change should occur.

The changes however were minimal; there was now no roof whatsoever and a waist-height (on the 5'4 Hermione) wall had been erected around the circular structure, with a strange circular stone bench and table in the centre, and below her feet the granite was paved with a white and flecked grey marble flooring. The bench allowed for easier chart-making in the Astronomy class and the white marble allowed for a reflective light to be cast in the usual darkness, but not being disturbingly bright for the stargazers either.

Hermione was sitting on the stone bench, with her elbows resting behind her on the stone table. It had quickly been her new favourite place in Hogwarts, and despite not being a particular fan of the subject itself, she had a newfound respect for Astronomy. This tower could certainly have been a place, if left alone, filled with dark magic. But it now felt like nothing terrible could ever have happened in such a lovely setting.

She had studied it briefly, but in the magical world, places where people die and/or where dark magic is performed are often left soaked in residual magic. It's due to the power and emotion that these acts entail, and how both involve an affection of the soul.

Hermione had never experienced it herself, but according to several of the books she had 'borrowed' from Professor Dumbledore, certain spells required so much power to be performed that they used some (and if not all) of the caster's _core magic_.

Hermione had found the whole concept very interesting, and would have certainly investigated its theory further if she hadn't been so creeped out by the old Astronomy Tower. It was these thoughts she found herself trailing before a glimmer of red at the entrance caught her right eye; Ginny Weasley.

"Hey!" Ginny greeted Hermione cheerfully. She perched down beside her friend on the cool stone bench.

"Hello, Ginny," Hermione replied with a smile on her face. The youngest Weasley had a knack for brightening a room whenever she entered.

Ginny gently nudged Hermione's shoulder with her own. "Minnie's looking for you. Wants to see you in her office."

"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione said, attempting to keep calm. She however failed miserably and the panic in her voice leaked out easily. "Her office? The _Headmistress'_ office?"

"Not like that!" Ginny said. She put a reassuring hand on Hermione's forearm. "It's not like you could possibly be in any kind of trouble – I mean you're Hermione bloody Granger!" Ginny laughed but immediately sobered up when she caught the pointed glare Hermione sent her and removed her hand. "If it's any consolation," she continued, "she didn't look mad or worried at all when I spoke to her."

Hermione turned away frowning; what could Professor McGonagall possibly want to see her in such a formal fashion for? If it had been anything less than critical, Professor McGonagall would have simply sent Hermione an owl, or would have even caught up with her herself. _I mean_, Hermione thought, _I've been around the castle for days – of course she knows where I am._ _No_, _something_ _is going on and I already don't like it_.

"Hermione?" Ginny urged warily.

"You say she didn't look at all worried when you spoke with her?"

"Well, no. She looked fine to me," she said with a shrug.

Hermione's frown deepened. She knew Ginny was perceptive, so her saying that the headmistress looked fine meant a lot to her deductions. She sighed. "I'm sure it's alright. When did Professor McGonagall say she wanted to see me?"

"She didn't. But I'm assuming she meant as soon as I found you."

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded, abruptly standing up.

"If you haven't noticed, Hermione, but this castle is awfully large – I'm sure she didn't expect to see you appear right away!"

"Be glad that I know plenty of shortcuts around this place!" Hermione snapped as she flew towards the door and staircase beyond.

Ginny Weasley simply rolled her eyes at her friend's retreating back and followed her at a slower and calmer pace.

…

Hermione's heart was racing. It may have been from the four minute run she had taken in order to reach the Headmistress' office quickly, but it may also have been due to the fact that she was being called to the _Headmistress' office_.

During her jog/speed walk/sprint to the second floor, Hermione had concluded that this was definitely not a social call. Something was wrong and it involved Hermione. Or someone needed her help. Or there was terrible news to be delivered. But the most common thought she had running through her mind was: _they've found my parents_.

Her heart pounding loudly through her ears and her cheeks flush from her haste, Hermione took a deep breath as she stared at the gargoyle. She would have been there quicker, if one of the hidden staircases she was familiar with hadn't been blocked up. She had been sure of its presence before.

"Courage," Hermione said, her voice catching in the middle. Professor McGonagall had decided that her method of choosing the passwords would differ significantly of her predecessor's… Hers instead were things relating to the four houses. For example, last week's had been Helga.

The gargoyle remained still for a moment, and Hermione was about to repeat the password before it abruptly started turning and revealed the slow revolving staircase. Hermione jumped on, and started taking multiple deep breaths in order to calm herself even more as the anxiety of being told bad news suddenly engulfed her.

_I don't know if I can stand any more bad news_, Hermione thought to herself_, I need them to be okay, I need them to be safe_ _– even if that does mean a life without me_. Hermione had decided long ago that she would accept not being able to fully restore her parent's memories of having a daughter, if it meant keeping them safe and happy, even although it devastated her.

Hermione stepped lightly from the staircase and forwards towards the dark-oak door. She raised her hand to knock, but paused to take one last deep breath with her eyes closed.

_It's okay, of course it's okay. And if it is actually anything terrible, we can deal with it; nothing can be as bad as before_, she resolved.

She stood there for a few moments, taking control over her breathing and irrational thoughts. Hermione was in the midst of scolding herself for thinking too fast when she was suddenly shunted forward in to the door. Hermione hit the wooden door with an "_Oomf_!" and heard a baritone echo the grunt behind her; there was someone else in the hallway.

"What the-" a male voice exclaimed. "Oh, it's you." Whoever's voice it was suddenly changed in tone when he noticed Hermione, and she didn't particularly like it.

Hermione whipped around to see the person who had invaded her space so rigorously and recoiled at the sight of him. _Malfoy_, she thought venomously. But then as her heart-rate started to calm, she said to herself, _it's only Malfoy!_ Hermione blinked at his appearance in surprise at her thoughts, and she wondered at what point during the worst year of her life, did Malfoy become one of the least threatening people she knew?

Since Harry had appealed for both Draco and his mother, the public's behaviour towards them had generally been _tolerance_. In the Order, however, there was a mixed view towards the last (free) Malfoys. Many were not so willing to forget the Malfoys' strong involvement with the Dark side, and just as many others had personal vendettas against them.

Harry was supportive of their induction back into normality and had publicly thanked Narcissa for essentially saving his life. He had also even extended playing a friendly Quidditch game to Draco (who had politely declined). Ron had supported Harry's decision to be amicable; he understood their unmovable positions. He however, did not feel the need to be as 'friendly' as Harry did. "Sure, they're not as awful as we thought they were, but Malfoy's still a git," had been his exact words.

Hermione, on the other hand, was torn. She was of the same mind as Harry; she believed that they deserved niceties. "They _need_ for us to accept them. Imagine they were shunned again in a world they wanted to escape to for so long – they could just so easily revert, Ron!" she had replied.

The only problem that Hermione saw was that they wouldn't want _her _acceptance or friendliness. While they may not have been so upfront about their beliefs any longer, she knew that they didn't think of her as any more than a Muggle-born high-riser – and that was at best. Thus left her wanting to be nice and actually speak to them, but knowing at the same time it was worthless because they wouldn't respect anything she said.

But there, standing right in front of her in the gloom of the narrow hall, was the same pale, thin, blonde boy who had tormented her early teen years. Hermione knew that, but looking at the tall young man who stood in front of her at that moment, she just couldn't bring herself to think that's all he was anymore.

Hermione brushed herself down briefly then brought her head up to look directly into his face (she still wondered how he came up behind her without her hearing him do so), and almost burst into laughter; he was staring at her with a mixed expressed of distain, disgust and as if she was crazy – all at the same time. She had outwardly recoiled from his appearance and had stared at him without speaking for the past few minutes while they were standing together in a small dark hallway.

_No wonder he's looking at me like that_, Hermione thought, amusedly.

This was new territory for Hermione to see so many emotions on Malfoy's face at the one time, but she knew if she burst into laughter it would make things a lot worse. She bit her lip and turned away from him before he could see the amusement on her face.

Opening her mouth to retort in the same 'disappointed to see you' manner, Hermione suddenly realised something.

"Did Professor McGonagall ask you to be here, too?"

Malfoy blinked and took a small step back, "Too?" he replied in surprise.

Hermione fell against the door. "Oh no," she mumbled.

"So you're telling me that McGonagall wants to see us both at the same time? What the hell? I thought I was here to see her about coming back." Malfoy didn't fight to keep the tone of disgust from his voice.

"Well I thought she wanted to see me about my parents!" Hermione replied as disgustedly.

Both parties stood as far apart as was possible in the small, gloomy hall with similar expressions of confusion and disgust on their faces for a few moments before they were suddenly interrupted with the opening of the oaken door.

Hermione stumbled back with a quiet whimper, before regaining balance and finding herself suddenly face to face with the newly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said, nodding at each in turn. "The quiet was disturbing. I was afraid one of you had incapacitated the other."

Hermione was still reeling from the sudden appearance of her headmistress and the light streaming from the office as opposed to the dark hall. Professor McGonagall had known they were out there the whole time? And hadn't intervened?

Malfoy on the other hand seemed to take it in his stride and strolled into the pink-lit office with a lazy debonair grace that only _Malfoy_ was capable of.

"Professor–" Hermione started to apologise, but as she caught Professor McGonagall's gaze, she saw the sparkle in the Transfiguration teacher's eyes and realised her teacher was messing with her. "Oh," Hermione said, and smiled weakly.

She was appreciative of the usually stern teacher attempts at humour, but at the same time it made her uncomfortable that she would use it around herself and Malfoy. Did the head teacher's obvious trust in him show that he was indeed a redeemed man? Hermione was deep in thought when Malfoy's voice interrupted her.

"Surely Professor, you didn't mean to call us both here at the same time?" Malfoy said, lazily waving a hand between Hermione and himself. "Unless we've made Head Boy and Girl, I can't see any other reason for us both to be here."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise at him, to which he replied with the same action. But he was right; the two of them certainly could have been candidates for Head Girl and Boy. Nothing else could possibly fit. She was suddenly flooded with an elated feeling as she imagined herself as Head Girl and all the responsibilities it would entail.

Hermione stared expectantly at Professor McGonagall, but the older woman wouldn't look at her, and her hopeful excitement quickly faded to worry. So it _was_ something terrible that involved both herself and Malfoy.

"The Head Boy and Head Girl have been chosen from the new seventh years, I'm afraid. If you and Miss Granger would please sit, Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said, throwing Hermione a sympathetic glance and indicating towards two out of the four seats Hermione had not noticed in front of the desk. "I would rather have to only explain myself the once. I am expecting others, so I'm afraid I cannot give you answers until they arrive." The Professor then exited the room through a door to the right of the large, golden desk.

Hermione was about to start hyperventilating. She didn't understand. She couldn't figure out what was happening. Usually, she had a clue as to what was going on, but this was the first time in a long time she had been so... unknowing.

Blindly, she sat down in the nearest leather arm chair and put her head in her hands. Hermione had a lot of thinking to do in a short period of time. She was so lost in thought she missed the fact that there were four chairs placed in front of Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Granger, if you're going to throw up; don't."

Hermione sharply looked up at the Slytherin sitting in the armchair next to her and found herself surprised; instead of his sitting in his usual non-chalant manner, he looked as uptight about this situation as Hermione felt. Malfoy was leaning forward, with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together. He had also gotten a few shades paler in the few minutes since they had entered the room, making him appear more translucent than ever.

_He's got just as much to worry about as me, if not more_, Hermione thought as she visibly relaxed into her chair at Malfoy's discomfort. She sighed and turned away from him.

"I'm not going to throw up," she said bitterly.

There was a pointed silence before Malfoy spoke again. "Good," he said simply. This was then followed by more silence. Hermione sighed again. A few more minutes in silence passed.

"I swear, if you sigh like that one more time, Granger, I am going to hex you so bad, you'll be dragged out of here drooling."

Malfoy's sudden outburst broke Hermione out of her deep reverie. Heart racing erratically (for what felt like the hundredth time that day), she took a few deep breaths and looked again at Malfoy to find that he was staring blankly at the floor. Even although he had been the one to comment on it, Malfoy was actually the one out of the two of them who looked like they were going to throw up.

Her obvious discomfort was making him even more nervous about this 'meeting', Hermione deducted. But she knew she simply couldn't say "sorry" – they just didn't do that. If she pointed out to him that he looked worried and offered support, Malfoy would probably _Crucio_ her right there and then.

"I just don't know!" she exclaimed, sighing again. Pretending that she hadn't seen him seemed like the best option for the both of them.

"Oh, la-dee-dah, Miss Know-It-All-Granger doesn't know something for the first time in her life. We're all fucking doomed."

Hermione snuck another glance at him; he was still staring at the floor, but she could see a smirk forming on his face. Turning away, she began to smile. But she made sure that there was no trace of it in her voice when she spoke again.

"Well just for your information, Malfoy, I do actually know quite a lot, so it's perfectly reasonable for me to trust my brain enough to come up with rational explanations."

"Well I think that bloody title has gotten to your head, Granger."

"What?" Hermione asked. She turned to look at him: _what was he talking about?_

"_The Brightest Witch of Her Age_ crap." He scoffed at the floor.

Hermione stiffened. She didn't know that Remus' term was being used in public or that it was known at all. "I don't need to defend myself to you," she replied curtly. "But in any case, that was promoted by the press and I have in no way encouraged the use of it. Personally, I think it makes me sound like a bloody light bulb."

Malfoy finally turned and looked at her. He raised one eyebrow before fully sitting up. "A what?" he said hesitantly.

Hermione stared blankly at him for a moment before bursting into a sudden fit of raucous laughter. Tears were streaming down her face when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Hermione?" the voice said incredulously.

Hermione immediately sobered and sat up. She shouldn't have laughed at him, and when she caught his look of disgust as she turned around to look at the new person, it only confirmed her thoughts.

"Harry?" she replied in the same tone. Hermione stood up. Harry was standing in the now open doorway, looking confusedly between her and Malfoy. He had caught her laughing with Malfoy, smiling at him, willingly _conversing_ with him. _No wonder he looks perplexed_, she thought. Hermione was stumped and for the first time in her life, she didn't know what to say.

"I don't know about you two, but with Potter here, I'd say this situation just got around ten times shittier."

Harry and Hermione both turned to look at Malfoy, who was now also standing. He was right. The three flummoxed teenagers exchanged similar looks of horror before Professor McGonagall re-entered the room through the same door she had exited, except now holding what looked to be tattered rags.

_The Sorting Hat_, Hermione thought excitedly before she started laughing again. _This is all so incredulous!_

The three others in the room all stared at Hermione with the same expression of confusion on their faces. Their golden girl was surely losing her mind.

"Professor please tell us what's going on," Harry finally said, eyeing Hermione warily, who was now clutching her side almost bent over double. "_Before_ we come up with insane conclusions of our own."

* * *

**A/N:** Gah! There's not much explanation to this one! All I'll tell you now is that it's a biggie. I hope you enjoy and please review!

_**Holly - xo **_

(Rewritten on 15/4/16)


	2. Chapter 2

The sight that befell Minerva McGonagall in her office was not one she could have ever predicted. Knowing the three young adults that stood before her since they were barely into double digits, the Professor would have thought she could knew them plenty enough by now to be able to predict their actions. This day, however, proved that wrong.

The Headmistress was astonished to witness her first candidate for Head Girl, a Muggle-Born Gryffindor and one of the most successful witches ever to attend Hogwarts, crying on the floor of her office in _laughter_ (at nothing the elder witch could identify), clutching onto her long-time enemy's trouser leg, which happened to belong to an equally as academically successful, pureblood supremacist, high-born Slytherin.

He was staring down at her in a look of disgust that Minerva McGonagall would usually admonish him for – but by the simple fact he was allowing her to continue to clutch his leg with such fervour, it confused the Transfiguration teacher enough to ignore it.

Her attention was also divided onto the third person in the room; a young man who was heralded wizarding kind's saviour, and the likes of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ (twice by her count) by his inability to die. He was by all means a powerful wizard, having encountered more kinds of magic in his mere 18 years than Minerva had in her entire 63. Yet, he was standing in the middle of her office with a look of such befuddlement on his face, she could mistaken him for someone just time-travelled two hundred years into the future, by mistake.

Harry Potter was staring at his best friend, Hermione Granger_,_ who was clutching onto Draco Malfoy in desperation. It was ludicrous. Everything was ludicrous. Minerva herself was clutching onto a pile of rags that turned out to be a talking hat, capable of Legilimency. She suddenly found herself wanting to join Miss Granger on the floor.

"Professor McGonagall?" a voice said warily from the door. Four heads turned to face the young blonde woman who now stood in the doorway.

Suddenly there was silence in the darkening office. The pink light of the glorious sunset from earlier was fading into the ink-blue of twilight, enforcing the sobriety of the meeting back into the minds of all its attendants.

"Is this a bad time?" she continued in the same uncertain tone.

"Miss Abbott! Oh no, no. Perfect timing. Please sit." Minerva was flustered. She couldn't believe she had not reacted appropriately. She quickly sat in her seat behind the golden desk and placed the Sorting Hat in the centre of the desk in front of her, ignoring the smirk the previous headmaster's portrait was sending her way. "All of you; sit," she barked.

She didn't need the confirmation of their obedience with the hurried sounds of chairs scraping on the floor and the squeak of leather, but it was satisfying all the same. Suppressing a smile, she began to address each of the members of her strange gathering in turn with her face as impassive as per the norm.

"Miss Granger, I can assume that you are now sound of mind, and I have no need to summon Madam Pomfrey to give you a calming potion?" Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"No, Professor," she replied. The embarrassment was evident in her voice, and it was clear she did not want to elaborate on the matter – which was fine by Minerva.

"Miss Abbott, Mr Malfoy... you are now both of age and perfectly capable of basic magic, therefore summoning a bucket for yourself if either of you decide to act upon your appearance to vomit is not unreasonable. I do not think I should need to mention it, but failure to do so may result in unfortunate circumstances for yourselves."

Mr Malfoy grunted and shrugged at the floor – having returned to his previous 'bracing' position. Minerva knew how his father would have scolded the boy for his current stature. This lead to her wondering how many other of Lucius Malfoy's ideals the boy did not care for.

Hannah Abbott merely nodded vigorously at the head teacher, as if in fear of opening her mouth a vomiting siege would ensue.

"And yes, Mr Potter, back to the matter at hand, thank you for the reminder. Please relax – what am I am about to ask of you is not grave."

"But it's not good either, is it Professor?" Miss Granger interrupted.

Minerva smiled kindly at her student. She was glad to see that despite the horrific experiences she had gone through recently, Miss Granger remained to be the same inquisitive and attentive student she had always been. She had always had a perchance to question, or 'test', her teachers – which annoyed most to no end. Minerva admired it instead.

She knew, even as a Professor for many years herself, that teachers had a habit of becoming ignorant of the student's views as the years went on; they saw the students more and more as a collective and less as individuals. Students themselves also had a habit of taking what their teachers said verbatim – which was definitely not always correct.

"It is indeed somewhere in the middle, Miss Granger. The situation we face begins with a long and complicated explanation – a summary of which I will leave the Sorting Hat here to do." Minerva relaxed into her chair and airily waved a hand at the hat in front of her. She was putting her trust in the pile of rags to do its job. _Ludicrous_.

The air in the circular office suddenly became intensely thick; time seemed to slow down with the silent understanding between the strange group that something important was about to happen. Her four students were all staring intently at the hat on the desk with the same pale, confused faces as the Hogwarts Sorting Hat opened a rip near the brim, as if it was opening its mouth to speak. They all held their breath as the hat began to talk:

"_In the days of Old,_

_When Hogwarts was nothing but brick and stone,_

_Two brilliant witches and two magnificent wizards were called upon to be told:_

'_In order to create the legacy you desire, magic must converge and four to become one'._

_The four then separated, each in haste to solve the conundrum._

_Godric fled across countries, in a dangerous quest hunting myths and tales;_

_Rowena dove into her books, searching for an answer to fall in tandem; _

_Salazar used his own wiles and means, and asked among his acquaintances;_

_Helga, on the other hand, trusted the abilities of her peers;_

_And was content with keeping the maintenance of everything they had so far achieved._

_And so for many a year, _

_The Four searched for answers, unsuccessfully._

_Because, as you see, they were nowhere near_

_Understanding their predicament without knowing where it would lead._

_As, for in order to succeed,_

_The Four's powers were only as strong,_

_As their combined core magic was freed,_

_And they found in each other a place to belong._"

The Sorting Hat then fell silent, causing an almost deathly silence to happen upon the room. Minerva held her own breath as she watched the faces of her students comprehend what they had just been told. Both Mr Potter and Miss Abbott had similar frowns on their faces; Potter no wonder thinking that we was yet again having to throw himself into something dangerous and Abbott questioning why the hell she was there in the first place.

Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger, on the other hand, were both staring intently at the hat with their eyes narrowed. Minerva suppressed the urge to laugh at the severity of their similar thinking faces. She could almost hear their brains whirring away from her seat behind the gilded desk and she wondered which student would be the first to break the silence.

"Professor, may I borrow some ink and parchment please? Before I forget anything," Miss Granger asked.

Minerva sighed; she had guessed wrong. She would have bet five galleons on Mr Malfoy bursting into an array of protests. It was times like these she missed the Potions Master (to a certain degree), as he would have accompanied her on betting which student would be the first to break. She however had a bad feeling that he would have guessed correctly in that situation. Her thoughts were only confirmed when she glanced up at the Slytherin Headmaster's (recently added) portrait, to find him smirking at her.

Minerva readjusted herself, ignoring Severus Snape's glow of smugness. "Of course, Miss Granger," she replied politely. Minerva reached into the top left-hand drawer and pulled out a spare piece of parchment, a quill and a pot of indigo ink and handed it to her student.

The office fell back into its state of dire silence again, now except for the scratch of Hermione Granger's rapid note-taking. Minerva flicked her wand at a nearby candle, which lit all of the candles in the room in turn. She allowed Miss Granger to finish writing before she spoke again. She was continually surprised that the famously vocal Malfoy, and similarly inquisitive Potter hadn't spoken up yet either.

"How much, may I ask, did you understand of that?" Minerva asked her students tentatively.

"Professor..." Miss Granger said quietly, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Surely not... Us four? Are you certain?"

"I wasn't, Miss Granger, no. But as the Sorting Hat spoke to you four, it can now be confirmed that each of you are the appropriate candidates."

"But... I'm not... There's two Gryffindors."

"But is there?" Minerva asked directly. "Has enough not changed for anything to be possible now, Miss Granger? Tell me, do you feel the same inside yourself as you did a year ago?" She spoke the last question to the entire group.

There was more silence, and none of the young adults met their Professor's inquisitive gaze. She was right, though. Plenty had happened to these teenagers over the past year to have essentially formed them into almost entirely different people; each person's experience and reasoning as diverse as the next.

"Can you all just stop talking in riddles and explain what the fuck is going on?" Mr Malfoy suddenly burst out. He was looking very pale and his face was glistening from the perspiration of his worry. Minerva felt for the boy, she really did. Bringing the subject up no doubt also brought up terrible memories for the boy. Even so, however, she did not appreciate being spoken to in that manner.

"I sympathise for your situation, Mr Malfoy, I truly do, so I will not punish you, but speak to me in such a way again, and it will be the last time you do so – and I do not mean only towards myself."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied solemnly.

Minerva did not miss the intense look Miss Granger was giving the side of Mr Malfoy's head. _She pities him. She's understanding his situation_, Minerva thought. Her face almost lit up in excitement; this is exactly what they were aiming for. She needed these four students to understand each other at deeper emotional levels for this to work.

"But yes, Mr Malfoy, you all do need an explanation. What the Sorting Hat just told you was the secondary part of this excursion. The first comes from some very old books I inherited when I became Headmistress. The inherited personal library of each Head teacher is a very large and diverse collection of tomes, and I personally do not believe that any Head could be capable of reading through the entire thing. It was mainly by chance that I came across these specific ones. And thank Merlin I did."

"But Professor, what did it mean?" Mr Potter interrupted.

"I'm getting to that Mr Potter. It's common to explain the first thing before the second is it not?"

"Yes, Professor. Sorry, I just really don't understand. What the hat said... I get it... I just don't get how it refers to now."

"Of course!" Miss Granger exclaimed. She threw her hands in the air. "Hogwarts isn't just a structure is it, Professor? There was more to the founding of the school than simply building it, wasn't there?" she asked enthusiastically.

Minerva recognised the shimmer of excitement behind the young girl's eyes. "Yes, Miss Granger, you are completely correct and on the right track. As usual." She said this with a genuine smile on her face. As a teacher, she didn't feel satisfaction from her students simply getting things correct – her joy came from seeing a student solve a problem and learn for themselves.

"Ah-ha!" Miss Granger exclaimed again. The three other students were staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "I assume your home is built in a similar manner?" She suddenly turned to Mr Malfoy.

"Wha... What?" he said, blinking at the girl's ecstatic face and his sudden inclusion.

"Oh, right," Miss Granger said, shaking her head. She picked up the piece of parchment she had written on earlier. "What the Sorting Hat said..." She indicated to the parchment. "It's explaining how the Founding Four actually built Hogwarts. And it wasn't simply a case of building the structure. I don't know how I didn't notice it before, I mean, it's pretty obvious. But yes, basically what the Hat said was that after the castle was built, the Founding Four actually _infused_ their _combined core magic_ in order to create the school the way it is now. I've studied core magic a little but this... this is _immense_. It's clear that this is not just a building, everyone who's been here can obviously see that. But my goodness, Professor, how on earth will we do it?" She was a little out of breath from her rapid speech, but the enthusiasm she had spoken with earlier died as she asked the last question.

"Wait a minute..." Mr Potter said, holding up his hand. "Are you telling me that Hogwarts is basically... alive?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking, yes," Miss Granger said.

"Fine, that makes sense, but what the hell has that got to do with The Manor?" Mr Malfoy said. Minerva looked at the boy carefully; he was looking a lot better than he had a few minutes ago.

"I just used it as an example." Miss Granger shrugged. "Plus, I think it might show us exactly why we need to do what we have to Hogwarts now. Think about your wards, have you seen anything like them anywhere else?"

Mr Malfoy frowned. "No," he said after a moment. "Well, maybe some of the other Slytherin estates. Like the Nott's, and the Parkinson's. Malfoy Manor's wards are still superior, however, they do behave in a similar manner. But The Manor is nothing like Hogwarts." He looked at Miss Granger incredulously, as if the answers were obvious.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Obviously," she said. "But I would bet that the original Malfoys used the same kind of magic to protect and create The Manor. The point I was trying to make, however, was that _obviously_ it's not like Hogwarts – because the magic would have depleted over the years, would it not? By your reactions, I can assume that it has not been corrected by any of your recent ancestors. But I can assume that, because it was a miracle I was able to get through your boundaries at all, never mind actually in the house. If the old magic was still as strong, I should have been repelled and thrown back from the gates, at the very least."

The deathly silence returned to the office. Miss Granger simply tossed a section of her hair over her shoulder and reread the piece of parchment in her hand.

"What Miss Granger is trying to say..." Professor McGonagall caught the attention of the four teenagers, who all abruptly turned to face her. "...is that Hogwarts has the power of the Founding Four running through its very walls – not unlike Malfoy Manor. But in that particular case, the magic has died partially over the years – the same as Hogwarts' power has done in the aftermath of the battle and the rebuilding. The Manor has been redecorated many times over the years has it not?"

Mr Malfoy mumbled something like "Mother moved the ballroom to the south wing last month."

"Yes, well, I'm sure the rearrangements are the reasoning behind your particular depletion, but in the case of our castle, the fact remains that the school was damaged terribly three months ago – and it affected its magic severely."

"So... what you're saying is that Hogwarts needs some kind of 'boost' in core magic for it to return to normal?" Miss Abbott said cautiously, speaking for the first time.

"Yes, that is exactly it, Miss Abbott."

"Yeah, but the problem is that we're apparently the new representatives for the Founders aren't we?" Miss Granger asked sceptically.

"Well, obvious problem there, Granger: I see no Ravenclaw here, do you?" Mr Malfoy replied, equally as sceptical.

"But that's what Professor McGonagall meant before when she said: 'are we really all still the same', right?" Mr Potter interrupted before things could escalate, as he saw the look Miss Granger shot him. Mr Potter took the silence as confirmation. "Are we to be re-sorted?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr Potter, I think that may be the wisest decision considering the confusion," Minerva replied. She picked up the hat from in front of her and stood up.

Minerva saw Mr Malfoy recoil. "Right now? You're going to do it right now?" he asked with a slight tone of panic in his voice.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, if you'd rather wait and do it with the new first years and in front of the whole school next week, then I'm sure we can reschedule." Minerva said this cattily, but she knew that he was terrified in case it said anything other than Slytherin. If anyone had changed the most since their first year, it would be Mr Malfoy. His reluctance made the Professor question herself whether he would still be Slytherin or not.

"But Professor, we still don't understand how you knew to summon us particular four?" Miss Granger asked.

"The Hat spoke to me directly a week ago. You three," she indicated to Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter and Miss Abbott, "were obvious. But the final 'riddle' described the 'Golden Child', and I assumed it to be Miss Lovegood. But when she visited my office a few days ago, the hat would not speak to her. It was Albus that reminded me of something I said a long time ago. So, I took a chance today, and I'm very glad it worked."

Miss Granger was silent at this. She sat in her chair, twiddling with a piece of her hair, staring at the desk with an intense frown on her face.

Sighing, and not wanting to waste any more time, Minerva plunked the Sorting Hat on Hannah Abbott's head, who jumped at the contact.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat said as soon as it made contact.

Minerva picked it up again and swiftly put it on top of Harry Potter's head.

"Gryffindor!" it said equally as quickly, which left Mr Potter frowning.

"No horcrux," Miss Granger mumbled at her friend, who nodded in response, as Minerva put the hat on Draco Malfoy's head, only pausing slightly before doing so.

"Slytherin!" the hat said, only after a slightly longer time than the previous two. Mr Malfoy had a tense expression on his face and nodded jerkily to himself.

When Minerva reached Miss Granger, the young girl looked up at her teacher with a look of worry in her eyes. Minerva smiled kindly at her as she placed the hat gently on Hermione Granger's head.

It was silent for a few moments before the hat exclaimed: "Ravenclaw!"

Minerva removed the hat just in time for Miss Granger to stand and flee the office. She left the oak door wide open in her haste, and a cold draft followed.

* * *

**A/N:** Ooooooh can you see the plot forming yet? Pfft, I hope not! Forewarning, there shall be twists and turns in this story - I also may update infrequently. Terrible, I know, I'm sorry. Thank you and please review!

_**Holly - xo **_


	3. Chapter 3

"Hermione..." Harry said tentatively. He was standing above his best friend, who was crouched on the ground in front of him. She was half-sitting against the wall next to the gargoyle guarding Professor McGonagall's office, mumbling to herself.

Hermione didn't raise her head when she replied. "I just don't understand," she said. "It's not right." Her voice was muffled by her arm, which was across her face on her knees.

Harry sat next to her on the floor and sighed. "I think it is, actually," he replied.

At this, Hermione raised her head enough to glare at him. "Tell me, Harry, in all of history who can you name that has changed houses at Hogwarts?" At his silence, she sat up fully. "_None_. Absolutely no single person ever has changed house in Hogwarts history. And I know this because I _know_ the history of Hogwarts, so don't give me shit about how 'oh, it could have happened, how are we supposed to know?'" She spoke the last few words in a tone that Harry had never heard her use before. _Mean and sarcastic doesn't suit Hermione_, he thought.

"Fine!" he said in an exasperated tone, causing Hermione to stare at him defiantly. "Let's just say that this _was_ an elaborate plan to get you to solve this mystery. You're still going to do it though, aren't you? Because let's face it, Hermione, you like it and you're good at it. McGonagall's right! None of us are exactly the same anymore. You even said it yourself: you don't want to become an Auror with me and Ron because you don't want to do the field work. You don't like the fighting and you don't like conflict! Seriously think about it... are you more Ravenclaw than Gryffindor now? Because, from my point of view, this all makes perfect sense."

Hermione huffed, but was silent. Harry knew he was right, and being soft on her wasn't going to help. But it was true; she wasn't the same after they had spent their year away and to him at least it truly did look like she was now more Ravenclaw than Gryffindor. She had always been different to the rest of their Gryffindor peers, but nowadays Harry saw the Ravenclaw streak she'd always had in her seemed to become more prominent at each new decision she made.

Hermione suddenly dropped her head back onto her arms. "Fuck it," she mumbled.

Harry's eyebrows flew up his forehead and he let out an abrupt bark of startled laughter. "Did Hermione Granger just swear? I must be hearing things. _The_ Hermione Granger? Nah, the world must've gone bonkers," Harry said teasingly and poked her in the ribs.

She squirmed away from him, but he knew she was smiling. Hermione sighed and lifted her head up. She straightened her legs out in front of her and put her head on Harry's shoulder. "I know it makes sense," she said after a moment of comfortable silence. "But I don't want it to."

Harry grasped her hand and held it in his own larger one on top of his thigh. "Even when I'm not at Hogwarts, I can't have a normal year," he said, only half-jokingly.

"And after everything that's happened, I still can't seem to find somewhere to fit in," Hermione replied. Her voiced wobbled, which made Harry feel slightly uncomfortable; he was no good around crying people.

"Hey," he said, pulling away to look at her face. "You've got us, always. And look at me; I've hardly had time to fit in with all the shit that's gone on. To be totally honest, I still don't think I've accepted the fact that I'm a wizard." Harry laughed.

Hermione let out a hysterical giggle. "You've still not gotten over the fact that a half-giant knocked down your door and took you away on a boat to a castle in the middle of nowhere where people waves sticks at each other."

"I haven't had the time!" Harry laughed louder, causing Hermione to fall back into her hysterical fit of laughter similar to the one she had in Professor McGonagall's office.

They both continued to laugh until they heard footsteps approaching, when they both paused to look up at the advancing person. Malfoy was standing a foot away, having also paused briefly as he noticed them. But as they began to laugh again, he stormed past them, mumbling "Mental. Everybody is fucking mental," to himself as he walked – which only caused the two teens on the floor to laugh harder.

…

Hannah Abbott felt like her brain was going to explode. _I'm Helga Hufflepuff's representative. Hermione is now a Ravenclaw. I have to come back to school. My magic is going to become part of the school. Draco Malfoy is going to help. Hermione's lost her mind. Harry Potter is in the midst of things again. I'm part of something huge. Hogwarts needs me. _

She was torn between bursting with pride and having the urge to vomit all over Professor McGonagall's golden gilded desk. After having settled somewhere in the middle, she simply remained silent and still to refrain from doing either. Hannah continued her silence during Hermione Granger's explanations and her dramatic exit, Harry Potter fleeing after her, Draco Malfoy's rant to the Head Teacher and his own dramatic exit, but when she was left alone with her Transfiguration teacher she almost let out a sigh of relief.

The other three students, despite having been in her classes for seven (-ish) years, she had barely said two sentences to any of them during the entire time. She felt almost uncomfortable around them – she didn't know them. Potter, Granger and Malfoy were celebrities in their own rights, and what was Hannah? Seeing them around school and in class meant nothing. Her younger sister was about to start her third year, and was constantly asking Hannah about them and some of the other 'famous' students that just happened to be in the same year as her, but Hannah never really had much to say about them.

During their fifth year when she was part of Dumbledore's Army was probably the closest she had been to '_The Golden Trio_', as the press liked to call them. And from what she had seen, they'd seemed like nice, normal, teenagers. Hannah had been sceptical of a lot of things that had gone on with Harry and Hermione, but now looking back on it, she blamed most of that on a lack of knowledge rather than disbelief.

Malfoy, on the other hand, she didn't know what to think of. She'd probably had more interactions with him than she had the other two. Being a Hufflepuff and all, Hannah had been subject to more than her fair share of Slytherin harassment. But due to being pulled out of school after her mother's death in her sixth year, she had missed what people had referred to as his turning point. When she'd returned in seventh year, all Hannah simply saw was a bully way out of his depth, and she'd felt almost sorry for him.

She could remember feeling terrified at the thought of being forced to go back to Hogwarts after having missed most of a year of schooling, no Dumbledore, and half of the student body missing, on the run, or dead. That had taken its toll on her when she'd started seventh year – causing her to mess up more than she should have. Hannah visibly shivered in her chair as she remembered having to be punished by the Carrows on several occasions. It was Neville that had solidified her thoughts on her stand with Harry; he'd believed in them so wholly, and she couldn't help but follow that.

Hannah had always felt closer to Neville Longbottom over all of the rest of the Gryffindors. At first, it was because she thought he was more Hufflepuff than Gryffindor, but then it was because of their shared love for Herbology – working together in class in companionable silence every now and then. Then, during their horrendous seventh year, he had became their rock; their light in the dark. She'd thought it a little cliché, but it was him she was loyal to, furthermore reaffirming her loyalty to the DA and Harry Potter. Hannah dreaded to think what would have happened if she hadn't had Neville around.

So there she was, sitting in the Headmistress' office, in the midst of a new crisis with three of the most important people from the most recent Wizarding War – and she couldn't help but think it was all a little crazy.

"Miss Abbott, are you all right?" Professor McGonagall said kindly.

"Wha... uh... yes," Hannah replied meekly, having been suddenly jolted out of her thoughts.

"Do you understand what's going on and what has been asked of you?" Professor McGonagall continued in the same, rather patronising, tone.

"I do, Professor," Hannah said more confidently. She had responsibilities now; she couldn't let herself get so flustered anymore.

"Good." Professor McGonagall said firmly. "I knew I could always count on a Hufflepuff." The Professor smiled, and sat down. The elder woman then sighed and put a hand to her forehead. "Those three, however," she gestured to the door, "I have no idea. Definitely have minds of their own. Not that I admonish it – I'm very proud of that. It will just make them working together a lot more difficult."

Hannah began to feel that Professor McGonagall was speaking more to herself than the student in front of her.

"All four of you will have to create some kind of bond with each other before the week is out, and my goodness, I can tell already that it'll be a difficulty," the teacher continued.

"Week?" Hannah squeaked.

"Oh, dear," Professor McGonagall looked at the Hufflepuff. "Did I forget to mention that? Merlin, this meeting did not go as I'd planned." She shook her head at the floor.

"Professor..." Hannah said warily. "I understand that Hogwarts needs our core magic to be properly restored but how do we actually do that?"

"Well, Miss Abbott, from what I've read in Rowena Ravenclaw's journals, I believe that it has to be done through, not a spell, but through The Founder's chairs."

"Chairs?" Hannah said confusedly. _Chairs?_ She thought. _What a bizarre idea_.

"Yes, dear, _chairs_. Exactly as I thought, too. But, as I discovered here from Haffordswill," Professor McGonagall glared up at one of the portraits, "Apparently, The Founders each had their own 'throne' as you will, which was the connection to their magic."

Hannah began to feel excited. _Well, at least I won't have to learn a complicated spell_, she thought. But then, as it occurred to her, she began to feel dread. "But where are the chairs?" she said. Chairs that could be mistaken for thrones were surely not something that a person could miss – and she could never remember seeing anything like that at all.

"We currently know the whereabouts of two of them; the Head Teacher's chair in the Great Hall and the one I am sitting on right at this moment," McGonagall said with a wry smile.

Hannah's mouth fell open. Of course those two would be them. They were both stunning and golden gilded, high-backed and very grandiose. She wanted to slap herself for not noticing it before. The chairs were similar in style, yes, but they weren't exactly the same. One might think that it was because they were for different rooms, but as Hannah looked closer, she could now imagine that it was because they belonged to _different people_.

"From the inscriptions and the detailing, I have determined that the one in the Great Hall belonged to Godric Gryffindor, and this one belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. The other two, however, I have been unable to find," she said solemnly. "You haven't happened to see anything like this have you?" Professor McGonagall asked sarcastically, half-turning in her chair to show Hannah more of it.

But as soon as Professor McGonagall said it, Hannah knew exactly where Helga Hufflepuff's chair was. "Yes, I have," she breathed. "I know where it is!" Hannah exclaimed, standing up.

Professor McGonagall drew back in shock at the usually timid Hufflepuff's outburst. "Sorry," Hannah mumbled, and sat back down.

"Oh, don't be, child! Please, tell me where you think you've seen it."

"Well..." Hannah began. It was a house secret and she didn't feel comfortable sharing it with a Gryffindor. _But this is the Headmistress!_ Hannah shook her head and continued. "The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room is probably the most secretive of the four houses, but there's additional secret rooms inside that not all of the 'Puffs know about."

A gleam of excitement started to shine through Hannah's eyes. She was very proud that she had been trusted with this knowledge, and she knew that she was betraying nobody by informing the Headmistress of this, never mind in order to save the school, so being able to talk about this made her feel very good indeed. Hannah was proud of her house and its differences, no matter what any of the other houses may say about it.

"A Hufflepuff finds out more about the tunnels as they go up the school, and whether they get promotions or not. Like, when I became Prefect, the sixth year Prefects showed us how to get into a section of the tunnels that I had never seen before. It's basically extra and more private study rooms, but in the smallest, there's a very pretty golden chair. I had never thought much of it before because nobody really used that room because it was rather cramped, but I truly think that's the chair you are looking for, Professor!" Hannah became breathless as she finished. She didn't think she had ever said so much to Professor McGonagall before, and she knew that she should feel nervous about it, but she didn't – which Hannah took as a good sign.

"That certainly explains why I was unable to find it," Professor McGonagall finally said after a moment. "I shall send Filch to retrieve it in the morning."

"Oh no!" Hannah exclaimed. There wasn't many Hufflepuffs currently staying at Hogwarts – only the ones with nowhere to go – but Hannah still didn't want any of them to know that she was telling secrets of their House to outsiders and then bringing outsiders in. No, just no, she could never. "I can ask Ernie and Justin to help bring it up," she said more calmly. _Yes_, she thought, _they'll be happy to helpt_.

"I see," said Professor McGonagall. "Well, if that's what you think best, then so be it." The Headmistress rose out of her seat, an action Hannah thought to be suddenly more regal with the knowledge that the chair was actually _Rowena Ravenclaw's throne_. "I understand that this has been a very long and... interesting... day for you. All of you. So, now, you may return to your usual dorms and rest. I'm afraid I will have to send for the four of you again in the morning. There is not much more we need to discuss, but the group must be together for me to do so. Thank you, Miss Abbott." Professor McGonagall then nodded at Hannah, who was surprised at the sudden dismissal. She was particularly glad though – it had been a strange day, and she needed time alone to allow her brain to process everything. Professor McGonagall strode to the door and held it open for the young Hufflepuff.

Hannah hurriedly stood up and quickly walked to the door, only pausing to say "Thank you Professor," and continuing down the spiral staircase and through the corridors to the Puff common room and her dorms in the same hurried pace.

Hannah found herself sitting on her old term-time bed before she realised: _I'm not even staying at Hogwarts!_ Hannah had flooed to The Three Broomsticks from her home to go to Professor McGonagall's meeting, so it was particularly strange of her to come to her dorm room.

_Professor McGonagall made me get flustered_, Hannah thought to herself. _I seriously must stop letting myself getting so wound up_. Then she shrugged her shoulders and rolled back onto the familiar warm honey coloured four poster bed. _May as well just go with it_, she thought before she fell into a surprisingly deep and sound sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you like where I'm going! I know there haven't been many Dramione interactions yet, but I promise there will be lots soon. Next chapter is almost entirely focused on Draco.

**_Holly - xo _**


	4. Chapter 4

Draco Malfoy had never found solace in his Hogwarts dormitory in the six and a half years he had ever attended the school, but after the peculiar day he'd had, he suddenly found a certain comfort in crawling into the silver sheets and pulling the green drapes across the four-poster bed.

He had also never appreciated being forced to share a bedroom with four other boys. Young Draco had begged his father to move him to a private room; or goddamn build one if there weren't any there already. Lucius Malfoy had however, surprisingly so, denied his son the chance of privacy (as if he'd had the power to separate him, anyway), and had told the eleven year old Draco: "You are now a Hogwarts student and will be treated as no less or no more. Do not give them more of a chance to hate you."

Young Draco hadn't understood what his father meant by 'more of a chance to hate you'. Why should everyone automatically dislike him? They didn't know him. But his father had been right. Almost as soon as Draco had started speaking to the other new first year students, he began to make enemies. Well, how was _he_ supposed to know that most of the other students didn't call the muggle-borns 'mudbloods'? It was what his father and everyone else who visited his house called them.

Even when he had insulted Weasley to Potter on the first day, Draco hadn't understood why the stupid scar-head hadn't agreed with him and laughed. It was what his _father_ did. Draco had spent most of his first and second years being confused by the other student's reactions to certain things he said. Draco later realised that it was the things he repeated from his father that was the cause of this. It was the initial reason why he'd simply stuck with the rest of the Slytherins, even despite the fact that a lot of them creeped him out. Sure, Draco liked a bit of tormenting here and there, but some of his house-mates got _serious_ kicks out of torturing the other students.

Different as he was, there Draco was – a fucking reincarnation or whatever of the founder of the house itself. He snorted aloud at the audacity of it. Draco was lying flat on his back, staring at the green canopy of his bed above him. He didn't understand why he'd chosen to stay in the school, but it'd felt like the right thing to do. McGonagall had yelled the Slytherin password at him as he'd stormed out of her office. He was annoyed, but thankful.

Plus, he didn't really want to go home. He hated being there now, especially after Lord Cuntdemort had ruined it for him. His mother had spent the entire summer redecorating the place, but it still emitted a sense of icky-ness that he did not want to be around.

_McGonagall must be going absolutely bonkers_, Draco thought to himself. _Her age must be catching up to her. Yeah, that's it. Because there's no way if she was in her right state of mind that she would let me back into this school_. Draco tried relentlessly to assure himself that his Headmistress was barking, rather than face the truth; that he was a true and utter Slytherin to the core.

Draco eventually fell into a restless and unnerving sleep. His dreams didn't make any kind of sense, but all of the snippets he actually remembered were tinged with blood and shades of green. But despite this, it had actually been one of his better night's sleeps since the Dark Lord had finally decided to permanently move out of his house. When Draco awoke in the early hours of the morning, with stinging eyes and a faint sense of 'not-quite-had-enough-sleep', he rubbed his face hard and sighed deeply.

"It can only get better from here," he muttered aloud to the empty dormitory, feeling more alone than ever.

…

Breakfast was a strange affair. Draco usually went home during all the school holidays, so he had never really seen what it was like when the Great Hall was sparse during mealtimes. It was after several more attempts at falling back asleep, that he'd given up and rolled out of bed at six thirty. The hall had always been open from six every morning, but Draco had no idea how it would work that day. Did people even usually stay at Hogwarts during the summer? Was that an option? _No_, he reasoned, _or else Potter would've taken up a permanent residence_. Draco snorted. Even he knew about Harry Potter's shitty living conditions. When they were kids, he'd laughed at him for it – but now he could almost relate.

With a scowl on his face, and a determined stride, Draco walked into the Great Hall with the appearance of someone who was entirely sure of what they were doing and where they were going; the entire opposite of what he felt. This was something that he had only recently had to learn. What was the point in being a successful Occlumens when people could easily read your body language?

Only pausing slightly, and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco continued his determined stride to the large circular table that was currently situated below the staff table. As it was early, there weren't many people seated, but there were enough to annoy him. He aimed for the emptiest side of the table on the right, boycotting whoever would be mad enough to willingly be up this early. Draco was not a morning person, and didn't appreciate inane chatter in any particular setting.

He pulled out a chair angrily and it scraped loudly on the stone floor, and sat down with a sigh. Draco barely glanced up as he began to pour himself a cup of tea, but it was long enough to catch Granger roll her eyes conspicuously at him before she hid her face behind her book again. He took a deep breath to rein in his feelings; hexing one of the most favoured witches in the world over their breakfast would definitely not be any kind of progression for him. Draco instead proceeded to make as much noise as he possibly could as he began to pile his plate with the breakfasts foods supplied by the elves. He most likely wasn't going to eat all of it, but he just wanted to annoy the girl for as long as he could.

…

Draco was impressed. Granger had remained impassive for at least ten minutes before she cracked. With a wry smile on his face, he had began to butter his sixth piece of toast, attempting to hit the plate as often as was possible, when she finally snapped her book shut and turned to face him.

"Just because you are clearly in some kind of mood, does not mean that you have to ruin breakfast for everyone else, too," she said cattily.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her before grinning widely. "Who said I was in a bad mood?" he said as cheerful as he could fake.

Granger however surprised him by sighing and turning back to her book. "Just be quieter," she said in a lacklustre tone.

He continued to stare at Granger for a moment, and then dropped his eyes back down to his plate. How was he supposed to forget everything that had happened when people like her continued to make it so obvious that things were different?

A sudden cry of "Mr Malfoy!" surprised him. Draco snapped his head up to find a startled Professor Slughorn staring at him over the table as if he had suddenly grown pink antlers out of his arse; shocked and a little disgusted.

The Potions Master had clearly been unaware of his presence up until Granger had spoken to him. _Great_, Draco thought, _another unwanted conversation_. He rolled his eyes openly as his old teacher began to speak and missed Granger's knowing smirk at his actions.

"Now you are a face I wasn't expecting to see! Did you arrive last night?"

"Sure," Draco responded.

"Goorey! Did you know that Mr Malfoy would be joining us?" Professor Slughorn addressed the fourth person at the table. 'Goorey' turned out to be the pile of cloth at the opposite side of the table from Draco. Goorey grunted, which Slughorn took to be a "No".

"Miss Granger?" Slughorn prompted.

"No, Professor," she said with a side-eye glance in Draco's direction, and then quickly returned her attention back to her book. He glared intensively at the side of her head while she took a tentative sip from her cup of whatever, still not taking her eyes off the book. _What the hell kind of book could capture someone's attention like that?_ Draco thought in a tone of disgust, barely hiding his curiosity.

"So, Mr Malfoy, what brings you to Hogwarts?" the Potions Master said jovially.

Draco was about to reply when Professor McGonagall arrived and spoke over him. "Mr Malfoy, along with both Miss Granger and Miss Abbott here, has become of great importance to the school, and is here at my request," she said authoritatively. Slughorn's face lit up like the Weasley's joke shop at Christmas. Draco could physically see his Professor bursting with curiosity. _So the other teachers don't even know that Hogwarts' magic is falling apart then? Interesting_, he thought.

Draco narrowed his eyes at his Transfiguration teacher. He didn't need to be defended. People acted like that around him all the time. Just because he was suddenly 'important' to the welfare of the school, Draco Malfoy was shunted to the Light side? He fought the urge to laugh outright.

Ignoring the patronising smile Professor McGonagall sent his way, he then turned his attention to the other person he had failed to notice at the table. _So the Hufflepuff had stayed as well_, he thought. _Then where the hell is Potter?_ Draco then noticed that there were no more people at the table.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, as she then asked Granger, "Where's Potter?"

"Oh, he should be along," Granger said, folding a page in her book and placing it on the table. _Oh so you'll put your book down to talk to _her_ then? _Draco thought bitterly. The rational part of his brain replied: _Of course she would– it's the head teacher_.

Draco noticed Slughorn inflate further at the mention of 'Potter'. He rolled his eyes again. If he was going to have to spend any more time with these fools, he'd end up giving himself an aneurism with the eye-rolling.

"Would you please fetch him, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall continued, "I'd like to finish this quickly, and since you are all here, now is perfect. Meet us back in my office in ten minutes. Miss Abbott, Mr Malfoy – with me." She strode away.

Draco was taken by surprise and found himself meeting the Hufflepuff's equally as befuddled gaze in a camaraderie manner and raised an eyebrow at McGonagall's commands. It was the blonde's sudden giggle in reply that reminded him where he was. _No_, he thought, rearranging his face into a frown, _I'm not here to be nice_. Draco rose and followed the headmistress.

…

In the Entrance Hall, Professor McGonagall stopped and turned to the students following her. Draco felt someone bump into his back at the sudden stop. He scowled but didn't turn round. Who cared who it was; they wouldn't do it again.

"I'll just..." he heard Granger mumble as she sped towards the marble stairs and away from their group. Draco's eyes followed her for a moment, then immediately turned his head towards Professor McGonagall.

"Mr Malfoy, if you would please head on up to my office. Miss Abbott, run ahead and tell Mr MacMillan we are in need of his and Mr Finch-Fletchley's assistance? I'll follow."

The blonde nodded and immediately took off in the same direction Granger had gone. Draco opened his mouth to protest. Why was he being sent to the office? He thought they were all getting spoken to again? What the fuck? _More fucking things we don't know_, he thought as McGonagall cut over him.

"Everything will be explained in due course. Again." She sighed wearily and followed the direction the Hufflepuff had sped off in slowly.

So there Draco was, left standing alone in the Entrance Hall with his mouth partially gaping open staring in the direction his previous companions had gone. _This is going to be a damned interesting year already and term hasn't even bloody started_, he thought grumpily as he then too walked up the marble staircase and up and up and up again to the head's office.

…

"Courage," he said bitterly to the gargoyle. Draco had taken his time getting to McGonagall's office, even trying to go the longest way he could possible think of; he didn't want to be the prat sitting around waiting for them all to return.

Draco waited for the gargoyle to start moving – but it remained still. "Courage," he repeated. Still nothing. Then, with a cry of annoyance and a foot stomp, he strode over to the ugly stone creature and stared directly up at it. "_Courage_!" he yelled in its squashed face.

"I don't think it being deaf is the problem here." A voice suddenly came from behind him. Draco whipped around to find the source of the scathing comment. _Ah, of course_, he thought, _Granger. How fucking perfect. And Scar-Head, too. My day has been made_. He rolled his eyes and said: "Well, if you have to mean it, it's never going to work for me. By all means, be my guest." He stepped out of the way and gestured her towards it sarcastically.

"I don't think it's going to work for us either," the stupid haired boy said.

"What?" Draco said, equally as stupidly.

"Were you not listening in the last meeting? Aw, who am I kidding, of course you weren't. It won't work because it's part of the depletion of magic in Hogwarts. Things like this are stopping working all around the school." Granger folded her arms smugly.

A light suddenly lit up in Draco's brain. Granger made sense, and it pissed him off. Therefore, he ignored the information he totally agreed with and replied sarcastically: "Well, maybe McGonagall just changed the password and didn't tell _you_."

Granger raised an eyebrow. "And she told _you_?" she replied.

Oh, what Draco would have given to be able to hex that witch right there and then, but because of the situation and the fact that he'd be tossed right into Azkaban, he replied with a simple: "Fuck off."

But where he stepped down, Granger took a step forward. She stared right up into his face and replied, "Right back at you."

Draco stared incredulously at her for a moment. "What the hell is your problem?" he said, taking a step forward himself. What the hell _was_ her problem? Maybe he had been wrong about his assumption that their old hatred had diffused into a strange kind of indifference?

They were now standing very close together, the almost foot difference in their height suddenly very apparent. _She's so short_, Draco suddenly thought, surprising himself. Granger was obviously trying to stare at him in an intimidating manner, but to him all she looked was cute. _Cute_?! He shook himself. The magically infused hair and the determined chin did not look cute to him at all. Not at all. But he found himself beginning to smirk anyway. However, that was before she began to speak.

"My problem?" she almost screeched.

"Hermione," Potter said warningly. But Granger whipped around and pointed her wand in her friend's direction. _When the hell did she pull that out?_ Draco thought in awe, before she turned her attention back to him. "My _problem_ is _you_... all of you purebloods with everything you stand for and everything you are! And people like you who cannot make decisions for themselves and continue the same damn cycle. Make a bloody difference Malfoy!" She pushed his shoulder and he took a step back.

Wait... what?

Draco was confused, and so apparently was Potter, as they both unintentionally shared a look of befuddlement over Granger's head.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Draco spat at her.

"Figure it out, you twat!" she shot back. And she turned and stormed down the corridor. Potter shook his head at nothing in particular then followed her.

"What the fuck?" Draco yelled after them, but it was mostly at himself – nothing was making sense. Ever since he had arrived at the school yesterday, Draco seemed to simply be accumulating more things he didn't know the answer to. He kicked the gargoyle in frustration and it suddenly began to turn. "Oh, _now_ you work," he said scathingly.

Draco hadn't felt such an array of emotions in a long time, but he suppressed it all anyway. _Not Granger, not Granger, not Granger_, he repeated to himself as he ascended the stairs to the headmistress' study for the second time in two days.

…

"So... chairs," Draco said bluntly.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall replied in a similar tone.

The office was silent for a moment, and all eyes unintentionally went to the new object in the room; a third golden gilded large chair. Four Hufflepuffs had brought it up earlier, with much difficulty on the stairs. When Draco had heard the commotion, he'd originally thought the office was under attack. But no, the oak door had swung open to four red-faced Hufflepuffs struggling with a thing that looked like a throne. They were soon followed by the Not-So-Dumb-Looking-Hufflepuff (Draco was yet to think of a suitable non-name for Abbott), and an exasperated Professor McGonagall.

Granger and Potter had turned up not long after, and had pointedly avoided Draco's gaze. Not that he cared. Granger looked red in the face and ruffled, which lead to make Draco wonder if it was actually Potter giving her some rather than Weasley. The thought made him frown.

Their head teacher had then hurriedly explained some strange theory that they were to fix whatever shit was going on with the school by having something to do with these chairs. Although, as Draco eyed the golden throne-a-likes, he could very much see himself liking that idea as he imagined himself sitting comfortably in one of them.

"However, Mr Malfoy, I believe that we shall require your help in sourcing the fourth and final one."

"Oh, of course the Slytherin one is missing," he said, throwing his hands in the air.

"What about the Chamber?" Potter piped up.

"I sincerely doubt Salazar Slytherin would keep his _throne_ in the place he built for his _pet_." Draco rolled his eyes at Four-Eyes' stupidity.

"You see, Mr Malfoy, this is why we need your help. You have the best access to the knowledge where he would have maybe kept it," McGonagall said.

Draco blanched. He didn't want that. He didn't want to 'know' things about Salazar Slytherin. He didn't want to empathise with the weirdo. Draco was his own self... wasn't he?

"Maybe he had some kind of vault down there though?" Granger said.

"That was pillaged years ago. And no, still not in the Chamber of fucking Secrets," Draco scoffed. He blanched again; it definitely was sounding like he was proving them right.

"Salazar Slytherin had a secret vault?" Granger suddenly turned her attention directly to Draco. Her inquisitive gaze was freaking him out. It was the intensity that he found creepy. Who cares that much?

"He had a secret bloody everything. But the vault, I suppose, was the most sought after for obvious reasons and was found a few hundred years ago." He paused to look at the four other people in the room, who were staring at him with genuine interest. "Have none of you seriously never heard of this before?" Draco said warily.

"Must only be a pureblood thing," said the Hufflepuff. She then waved her hand around the room. "And none of us are purebloods."

No purebloods in the room... except for him. Draco didn't think he had ever been in a situation like that before, but found that it strangely didn't bother him. At all.

"'The Great Pillage of Dover'? No? A few hundred years ago, when the Malfoys were still actually French," he scoffed, "they were really into sailing, which was actually what brought them to England in the first place. And during that first journey, they docked in a magical port where they incidentally found by entire accident, the secret vault of Salazar Slytherin. While the man was compulsively secretive, he always did like to mark his spot. Nothing like snakes carved into stone to attract some Malfoys." Draco smiled coyly. "But of course," he continued, "There were other pureblood families from the continent and further on that ship. The Zabini's, the Shacklebolts, the Rosiers and the Lestranges are the only ones I can remember. But it was the raiding of that vault is what established a lot of the old families and gave them the funds that they have today. But of course the Malfoys were already established by then," Draco added out of habit. He couldn't believe how much he could remember from his governess and their lessons.

Everyone in the room was staring at him, and Draco suddenly felt his cheeks heat up. He had never had any kind of problem with people staring before – they did it all the time. But this, he felt, was a different kind of stare. A stare he was unfamiliar with.

Professor McGonagall silently handed Granger a piece of parchment and quill with ink, who accepted it eagerly and immediately began scribbling. For a moment, the only sound in the office that could be heard was the scratching of Granger's quill. A sound that all of them were particularly used to.

"Mr Malfoy... do you have any kind of inclination where this chair might be?" Professor McGonagall said.

"I... well..." and suddenly, Draco did know.

Draco knew exactly where the fourth and final chair was.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione was confused – which she found was both problematic and particularly unusual. She usually dealt with the regular everyday obstacles in the same way each time – _what were the facts?_ And solved them easily; determining and eliminating all possibilities and scenarios.

But now? What information she had been bombarded with over the past two days was most definitely something she could not solve in her usual way. Scarily, it reminded her of when she, Harry and Ron were hunting for Horcruxes and nobody knew anything and they struggled to understand anything they learned. She shivered at the memory. Oh, how she had been mistaken in her thinking that her final year at Hogwarts would be '_easy_', or any shade of normal for that matter.

Hermione hadn't slept well that night, if it could have even been called sleep at all. She had lain awake alone in her old dormitory for hours, simply wondering what the hell had changed about her so much that Hogwarts would change her entire house. She didn't know quite to make of what the Hat had told her. It had briefly said: "For the greater good."

Well, maybe she _did_ know what to make of it; the Hat had always known that Harry would need her in whatever he had to do therefore it was necessary to be sorted into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw when she had made that initial brave decision to ask to be in Gryffindor. Hermione had worked this all out rather quickly, and had come to grips with it – but it still didn't make her any less angry at being used.

Sighing, she'd called it quits at six o'clock and had gotten ready for the day ahead, causing her to arrive at breakfast not long after the hall doors had opened for the day. Then, to her delight, Malfoy had arrived in all of his prat-glory. It had not been the best of days so far for Hermione, and her outburst hadn't improved any either. For someone who firmly believed in second chances and acceptance, she had surprised (and disappointed) herself at blaming Malfoy for everything that was wrong – a lot like what the old Hermione would have done.

Therefore, after Harry had shaken some rationality back into her and the shame had set in, Hermione hadn't even been able to look Malfoy in the eye when they had arrived in Professor McGonagall's office. He hadn't technically done anything, and she knew she had started it. An apology was needed, but _apologise_ _to Malfoy_? That was certainly a territory Hermione had never had to approach before.

_Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing_, she reasoned. True indeed, however, she also knew that it would create a huge turning point in their relationship (if it could even be called one), and Hermione also knew that once that was breached, it would begin a flood of things each had to apologise for. And that, she knew, neither one of them was capable of doing. Some things just couldn't be solved with an "I'm sorry".

So Hermione decided to simply ignore him. Sure, they would be in the same year, the same classes, but she had been perfectly capable of ignoring him before, so why not now? Having made a decision she was comfortable with, Hermione had relaxed a little more in Professor McGonagall's office as she explained something about chairs. She had rolled her eyes at the part where Salazar Slytherin's throne had been pronounced missing. _Oh, what a surprise_, she'd thought. But it was Malfoy's reaction and explanation that'd had her unnerved again.

As she watched him speak, Hermione had realised that she had never seen him simply _talk_ before. Of course they'd conversed over the years, but it was always only snide comments or questions laden with sarcasm. She had never heard him speak, and it was certainly interesting.

Hermione almost missed the information that he had given due to her incoherent thoughts._ No thinking like that_, she mentally scolded herself. _No distractions when there's a problem to be solved_, she thought logically, and continued to write on the piece of parchment Professor McGonagall had handed her silently. Hermione almost fought off a smile – she wasn't becoming predictable now, was she?

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said, finally breaking the silence, following Malfoy's speech. "I can trust to, as they say, 'leave you to it'?"

"Yes, Professor," he replied, nodding solemnly.

Hermione was bursting with curiosity. Where was it? What did he know? What was he going to have to do to get it? Was it with Death Eaters? Was he still in cahoots with any of them? But however, to her dismay, the rational part of her brain shut it down and forced her to stay silent. Allowing herself to trust that Malfoy could do this successfully and on his own was punishment for not apologising to him. At least, that's what she told herself anyway.

_Giving him a chance, giving him a chance, giving him a chance_, she mentally repeated to herself with her eyes closed. Hermione gripped the seat of the leather chair tightly and counted to three before reopening her eyes and letting go. It was a new thing for her to become removed from a situation. This year, she had also told herself to answer less in class. Just because you know the answer does not mean that everyone wants to hear it.

"Good," said Professor McGonagall. "Now, onto the last thing, I think. I'm presuming that you all are returning to Hogwarts to redo your final year?"

Harry half-raised his hand warily. "I'm not, Professor," he said. "I've been accepted into Auror training."

Professor McGonagall's face visibly tightened. "Ah, yes, Minister Shacklebolt told be about the... opportunity offered to some of you." She then stared at Hermione, as if daring her to confess she was also joining.

Harry and Hermione shared a look. "It's only myself and Ron who accepted," he said. Hermione flushed under the gaze of her Headmistress and best friend at the implication Harry's sentence provided. There had been a rather heated debate between herself and her two best friends on her decision to return and not follow them into the Ministry. It was harder for her to make that decision than they thought. Hermione had never really made other friends in their year other than Harry and Ron, and without them she felt like she was heading in alone.

"While I firmly believe that you are all rather young for all of this," said Professor McGonagall, "I do also believe that I have no right to cast judgement over your decisions, Mr Potter, and you have shown perfect capability with what you have accomplished at your age. I further remember that this was your same ambition three years ago, therefore, I can only congratulate you and wish you the best of luck." Professor McGonagall then gave him one of her rare smiles.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied.

"I will definitely be returning, Professor," Hermione said.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Miss Abbott?"

"I... I would very much like to, Professor. I didn't do very well last year, you see."

"Yes, I remember," Professor McGonagall said tonelessly. "But nonetheless, I am glad you have chosen to return, Miss Abbott." Hannah smiled. "Mr Malfoy?" Professor McGonagall continued.

Hermione held her breath. She had assumed he was returning. But what if he wasn't? She supposed that, with him being a Malfoy and all, he also had the opportunity to walk straight out of this office and into a secure job. Or into the family business... whatever that was. _Whatever he decides_, she thought,_ will show us all what kind of person he's choosing to be_. It was like a light bulb had blown in her head.

This also appeared to be a test Professor McGonagall was giving him. Hermione could see it in the lines in her headmistress' forehead and in her narrowed eyes. If Malfoy chose to return to Hogwarts, it meant that he was choosing to step away from the traditional Malfoy life. He was going to choose to gain an education and get a job that way – as opposed to the norm of pureblood society and getting in on _who_ a person knew. Hermione was on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

"I..." he stuttered for a moment. Malfoy glanced at the three other students in the room, who were incidentally all staring at him. Hermione saw him sit up straighter. "I would like to return," he said confidently.

Forgetting where she was for a moment, Hermione began to smile. It grew into a full blown grin before she realised what she was doing, and caught Harry's eye. He was staring at her in a 'what the fuck are you doing?' way, and she quickly corrected herself. _As long as Malfoy didn't see_, she thought, as she looked for any trace of weirdness on anyone else's faces.

"I'll explain later," she mumbled to a worried looking Harry. He visibly relaxed. No one else in the room had noticed their exchange, nor Hermione's strange happiness at her long-time archenemy's joining her in the return to school.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, I am as equally as glad," Professor McGonagall said, smiling for the second time that day.

Hermione took private delight in seeing him flush at the kindness. _Maybe he is redeemable after all_, she thought, taking care not to smile so obviously again. A nice kind of ache began to grow in her chest. _This is exactly what the Sorting Hat meant_, she thought, _we have to understand each other_. Hermione suddenly felt elated in the hope that Hogwarts might actually survive in their post-war revival.

"With you included, Mr Malfoy, it actually creates a perfect number," Professor McGonagall said. She pulled a piece of parchment out of a drawer in her desk and began to read it. "Eighteen," she said. "Eighteen for the eighth year."

Hermione started to smile. "Eighteen for eighth year," she repeated. "I like the sound of that, Professor."

"Yes, I think I rather do, too. The letters were sent out yesterday, but since you four were technically already here, I suppose you were missed. I sent a letter to each eligible student from your year group offering them a chance to return. Including three of you, eighteen have responded and accepted." Professor McGonagall waved her wand over a piece of parchment on her desk, which multiplied, and she handed a copy to each of the four students seated in front of her. Hermione purposefully ignored the fact that when Professor McGonagall said 'eligible', she meant not dead or not a Death Eater.

Hermione took hers with a small: "Thanks." And looked down at the yellowing paper; it was a version of the summer letter students received before going back to school every year:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**_

_Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

_Dear [Student],_

_ We are pleased to inform you that due to the irregular teaching of your seventh year, Hogwarts is offering each student a chance to return to school to redo their year and examinations in the hope that they do better. _

_We hope that you accept this opportunity and owl with your response as soon as possible. Please find enclosed a list of supplies you should need for this year. Term begins on the 1__st __September. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Filius Flitwick_

_Deputy Headmaster_

_P.S. A further letter will be sent out after a reply regarding the finer details of the arrangements, should you accept._

Hermione finished reading the quickest, and watched the rest of the room's occupants until they also finished. She noticed a long time ago that when Harry read, he fingered his glasses, as if he were suddenly more aware of their presence. Hermione then wondered if he needed a new prescription for them. _When was the last time he was even tested? _she thought, adding it to the mental list of things to do in her head.

Professor McGonagall hadn't even bothered reading it, and was fishing around a drawer in her desk. Hermione watched her as she pulled out a second piece of parchment and also multiplied this one. Hermione assumed it to be the more informative letter which was promised in the first.

"Here," Professor McGonagall said, handing the second letter out once it was clear everyone was done.

Hermione skimmed it. On it was a list of the eighth year attendees and an empty box in which to fill a roommates option in. It also had further details of the eighth year 'tower' that had been added to the school for their sole purpose. There was no space in the house dormitories you see, as the rest of the years had continued up as normal, despite the… dip in attendance.

Also in the letter contained a list of subjects to choose from and a paragraph explaining how there would be many mixed year classes focusing more on capability. Hermione found herself agreeing with the new curriculum, as it made entirely more sense. The Carrows alone had jeopardised the student's education in a whole subject, therefore having first and second years working together to learn the basics again would have to be a necessity.

"So we will be in classes with this year's seventh years?" Hermione said.

"Yes, that's what we will be aiming to achieve, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall.

Hermione nodded. Most of the seventh years had infact achieved an okay education during their sixth year, but she also questioned how it would affect those who'd had to leave during the year like Ginny and Luna. Surely they would need to repeat the year as well? Hermione shook her head to herself. They would simply be put in sixth year classes and catch up to their seventh year peers. Hermione found herself admiring whoever had created this idea, because it formed an efficient system which wouldn't leave anybody behind and catch everyone up to where they were supposed to be in one year – meaning that the next new first years would not be affected at all.

"Professor... I have to say, this is a wonderful idea," Hermione said.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. We were afraid at what the consequences the affect of last year would have on the students, but if all goes to plan, everything should seemingly go back to normal." Professor McGonagall stood up. "While you are here, would you please choose your roommates. There are a number of rooms available but I'm afraid you cannot have one to yourself. Any number above that is agreeable. The rest of your classmates have chosen, but with yourselves included I will make the necessary changes. If you may also choose your subjects, please in the box underneath. You may choose the same subjects or entirely new ones if you wish. After that, I'm sure you're glad to hear, you may be dismissed. I do however request all of your presences at the Welcome Ball on Sunday, as I would like to perform the ceremony then. Not in front of the guests of course, but I believe that evening will be best. Mr Potter, you may leave now if you wish – you do not need stay for this."

Harry blinked. "I'll just wait on Hermione. We're both going to the Burrow anyway."

Hermione shot him a look before she realised that it was okay for people to know where they were going nowadays. It was still a big deal for her to change habits after they had returned. Hermione had still found herself going to bed wearing her clothes and keeping her wand under her pillow. It wasn't until Mrs Weasley had complained about her lack of washing that had jolted her out of that one.

Hermione suddenly found herself staring blankly at the list of her classmates. Who was she to pick? Obviously she couldn't imagine Professor McGonagall allowing mixed sex rooms, therefore leaving her the only choice of the girls. Hermione saw Padma Patil on there, who she didn't mind – but who had she chosen to room with? Would she even like sharing? Hermione shook her head and moved onto the other girls in the list. Her options were:

_Davis, Tracey_

_Patil, Padma_

_Perks, Sally-Anne_

_Roper, Sophie_

_Turpin, Lisa_

Hermione chewed her lip. What was she going to do? She had barely spoken to any of these girls in her life. She took a chance glance up at Harry, who smiled at her, obviously oblivious to her indecision. But then, as she looked past him, Hermione caught Hannah's eye. The Hufflepuff then smiled at her and pointed at herself and Hermione, as if to say: "You and me?"

Hermione grinned at her in relief. She had forgotten about Hannah, which would definitely be her first choice out of all of the girls. If Lavender or Parvati had been on the list, she may have chose them simply because that was what she knew, but now that she had the option of Hannah, Hermione was suddenly looking forward to having a roommate.

She quickly scribbled down Hannah's name into the empty box and moved down to choose her subjects. That one was easy. Hermione then again quickly scribbled: Defence Against the Dark Arts (scoffing as she did so), Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Ancient Runes, History of Magic and Arithmancy into the secondary blank box and handed it back to Professor McGonagall.

"Who will be teaching Defence this year, Professor?" she said, standing up.

Professor McGonagall smirked before she replied. "Bill Weasley," she said.

"Oh!" Hermione said, clapping her hands together.

"But he didn't say anything!" said Harry, also standing.

"Well, yes, I imagine he would have wanted to announce it properly. I may have ruined any plans he may have had for that."

"Don't worry, Professor, we'll act surprised anyway," Hermione said with a smile. "Anyway," she said, turning to Harry. "Shall we get going?" she asked him.

"Yeah, uh, let's go," he said. "Is that all? Are we done?" Harry asked Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, I certainly believe so. Mr Malfoy, will you be able to acquire the chair by Sunday?"

Malfoy was frowning at the choice form before he looked up. "Yes," he said simply before looking down again. Hermione smirked. _He must be having the same problem as I did_, she thought.

"Okay then," Professor McGonagall said. She then made shooing gestures with her hands. "Now leave and enjoy the last week of your freedom before you have to return to school again. Go, now, shoo."

Hannah then handed back her form and also stood. "Can I walk with you?" she said shyly to Harry and Hermione.

"Of course!" Hermione replied. She then hesitated and glanced at Malfoy. Waiting for him would just be weird, but leaving without him would be rude. It was truly a dilemma. She looked at Harry. He sighed.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Malfoy slowly looked up at him, implying the incredulousness of the offer before he even had to speak. "I'm fine," he said, and then turned back to the paper. "But, thanks," he added, surprising everyone.

"Right," Harry said, glossing over the fact that Malfoy had just been polite to them. "Thanks, Professor." He then turned and walked out the door.

"Goodbye," Hermione said, and then followed her dark-haired friend. She didn't hear what Hannah said, but it couldn't have been very long as she joined the other two at the bottom of the stairs not long after.

Their walk through the castle was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Hermione linked arms with Harry as they walked through the Entrance Hall.

"You know," she said in a hushed tone, "I didn't think I could ever see the castle in the same way again."

"I know what you mean," replied Hannah as she opened the door. The three of them walked outside and into the warm afternoon August sun. "I never thought I could look at the lake again and imagine myself down there reading a book." Harry and Hermione both gave her an inquisitive look. "We weren't allowed to wander the grounds last year," she explained.

"Oh, how awful," Hermione said.

Hannah laughed emotionlessly. "That wasn't the half of it."

Hermione flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," Hannah said, waving her hand. "I know you weren't trying to be insensitive."

"It's just... when everything looks so... _normal_, it's easy to forget," Hermione said.

They crossed the courtyard, and didn't fail to notice that the brickwork was glittering in the sunlight and the rustling of trees could be heard along with the sound of the owls going to and from the owlry.

"Yeah," Harry said after a moment. "It's hard to think that people duelled here."

Hermione looked at him; his eyes were downcast, so she rubbed his arm with her other hand in comforting manner. He looked up at her and they shared a sad smile. They had been through a lot together, and their silent understandings were only one of the few things they had got from it.

"Did you see everyone who's coming back this year?" Hannah said, changing the subject. "Not a lot of Slytherins... _or_ Gryffindors in fact."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't take a proper look," he said.

"Three Gryffindors and Slytherins apiece, including myself and Malfoy," Hermione replied. "I stand corrected: _two_ Gryffindors," she said bitterly. "Who would have thought it? More Slytherins than Gryffindors! Ha!" She scoffed. It was then Harry's turn to rub her arm sympathetically.

"So who's the Gryffindors?" Harry asked.

"Neville and Dean," Hannah said, looking at him around Hermione (who was in the middle of them both).

"And the Slytherins?" he said.

"Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini. Don't really know much about them, to be honest," Hannah replied with a shrug.

"Zabini's a prat but Tracey's okay," Hermione said. Harry looked at her questioningly. "Okay, I've never spoken to her, but I used to see her in the library a lot, so she can't be that bad, right?"

And at that, she had both Harry and Hannah laughing loudly.

"Only you, Hermione, would trust someone because they're a regular at the library," Harry said, wiping away a tear.

Hermione huffed in response. They had reached the gate, and she walked ahead to say the incantation to open it for them.

Once on the other side, and past the anti-disapparition wards, the three stopped and looked at one another.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think I might like this year," Hannah said with a grin on her face.

Hermione smiled in response. "I think I might, too."

Hannah gave a small wave and disapparated with a neat _crack!_

Harry and Hermione turned and looked at one another. "You want to go side-along or shall I?" he said.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before she smiled mischievously and said: "Neither!" and disapparated with a _crack!_ not unlike Hannah's.

Harry simply shook his head and smiled before focusing on visualising the apparition point at the Burrow, and followed the ladies' suit by disappearing at the gates of Hogwarts with a _crack!_.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione awoke to the sound of chickens clucking and the warm yellow light of the early morning sun streaming across her face. She sighed into her pillow; if only every day began as it did at The Burrow. It was just so peaceful and _good_.

It was strange to admit, but this house seemed more like home that anywhere else she had ever lived. Over the past few years especially, it had become clear to Hermione that she hadn't really felt at home in her childhood home. Yes, she'd had a lovely ten years with her parents without the magic world, but there was always that underlying sense of not-quite-fitting-in.

Her favourite books as a child were her mother's old Enid Blyton ones, such as _Mallory Towers_ where the characters went to huge boarding schools in the country. It had fascinated her then and when she was invited to attend Hogwarts, it was like all of her dreams had come true at once. Hogwarts itself was like a second home to her, but the constant threat of imminent danger did often put a damper on that. Like Harry, she preferred the peaceful chaos at the Burrow.

The two of them had been adopted in all but name by the Weasleys after they had returned in May. When Mr and Mrs Weasley had learned that they didn't have anywhere else to go, it had been a no brainer for them to offer their home up to the two teenagers, not that it had been any kind of inconvenience for either party.

Harry had moved into Percy's old room and Hermione was staying in Fred and George's room. She had originally felt uncomfortable about it, so soon after Fred's death – but George had all but shouted at her over the kitchen table, ensuring that spreading her "all encompassing rule-abiding germs" over their space was a hell of a lot better than it not being lived in at all. It was also across the hall from Harry, which had caused her to giggle when she remembered the mini wars on the landing between the three brothers. The Silencing Charm was one of the first spells each Weasley ever learned.

Hermione couldn't understand how Mr and Mrs Weasley did it. Everything must make them feel nostalgic about a better time for their family, and sad about how much had changed, because that was exactly how Hermione felt. It was almost as if she was constantly sighing, remembering how something was again so different. But she didn't let it get to her. She couldn't. Each morning was a new day, and every day that was wasted dwelling on the past was a day that nothing progressed and the future wouldn't become something better. That's what she told herself each morning as she dressed before leaving the strange sanctuary that being in the twins room had created.

Hermione hadn't changed much about the room, but as soon as it had been given to her, she had charmed the two beds together, creating a double and added her usual protective spells encased in a pretty pair of pale yellow curtains over the previously bare windows. She had attempted, but failed, to rid the room of the smell of gun powder, but the lingering additional smell of fir trees and candy was rather pleasant. Hermione would never have guessed that she would see the day when she was comforted by Fred and George Weasley's figurative presence.

Stretching her arms above her head and sighing contentedly, Hermione lay in bed for a few moments of silence before throwing the pale blue duvet off and getting up to dress. She pulled clean underwear, a pair of dark blue jeans and a lilac t-shirt out of the dresser and flicked her wand at the bed (causing it to make itself) and left to head downstairs to the bathroom.

In the previous summers she'd spent there, it had been almost impossible to get the bathroom as soon as you got up. There were three bathrooms in the house; one on the ground floor across from Mr and Mrs Weasley's room, one on the first floor where Bill, Charlie and Ginny's rooms are, and a small one on the top floor, across from Ron's room (there were four floors in the Burrow). Therefore only herself and Harry were using the one on the floor below them, as there was only the six of them in the house – Molly, Arthur, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Bill obviously had Shell Cottage and Charlie had stayed for a few weeks but had gone back to Romania once he knew that his parents were going to be okay. Percy had grown rather fond of his flat in London, and had chosen to permanently stay there and George, despite his mother's protests, had chosen to stay in his and Fred's flat above the shop in Diagon Alley, so the roost, as they say, had been flown by most of the Weasley children.

Hermione showered quickly, and spent barely a moment on her appearance in the floor-length mirror in the bathroom. It wasn't as if she was going anywhere special. Mrs Weasley had taught her few handy charms since she had begun living there. One included a spell that dried her hair, and another that curled it neatly and another that covered any blemishes on her face. Hermione didn't feel the need for any more than that.

Throwing her pyjamas and damp towel into the wash basket, she took one last glance at herself in the mirror and opened the door to leave. Hermione was instead met with a blow to the face, and was forced to stumble back over the threshold.

"Oh my god, _Hermione_! Are you okay? I swear I didn't mean it. Oh _god_. I was just trying to knock to see if it was empty!"

Pressing her hand against her forehead, Hermione dazedly straightened up and found herself looking into the face of her best friend.

"Wha... No, Harry, it's okay. _I'm_ okay. I promise," she said. "I've had a lot worse."

Harry frowned. He didn't appreciate the post-war humour yet. Not that it was a good thing, but at least it was progress. "You need ice on it or something?" he said, checking her over.

She swatted his probing hand away from her cheek. "No," she said firmly. "I am _fine_."

"If you say so," he said. "But yeah, I'm glad I ran into you before breakfast, I wanna ask you something."

"We're basically neighbours, Harry, it's hardly difficult for us to run into one another," Hermione bit out. Her head hurt, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"Well, yeah, but I was going to ask whether you think it's a good idea letting Ron in on everything?" he said cautiously. When Hermione blankly stared at him, he said, "Hogwarts? New prophecy? Us being magical descendents and representatives of the greatest witches and wizards that ever existed?"

"Oh, _that_," Hermione said emotionlessly.

"I didn't hit you that hard, did I?" Harry poked at her face again jokingly.

"Again, _no_." Hermione side-stepped his hand, so that she was now standing outside the door and he was inside the bathroom. "I just temporarily forgot. It's easy to forget about Hogwarts whenever we're here." She gestured to her surroundings. "But to answer your question: _yes_. You know how I feel about leaving Ron out of things."

"Yeah, I know, but this is different. Like, if this got out – can you imagine the press? '_The Chosen One: Defeats Heir of Slytherin without Knowing He's the Heir of Gryffindor_'. And that's not even taking into consideration whether they believe it or not. The Aurors already don't take me seriously enough because they think I'm some big-shot who only got in with his name!" He threw his hands in the air and sighed.

Hermione put her hand on his arm, which immediately calmed him. She removed it and said, "Well, you just have to prove them wrong, don't you?" She smiled. "But I understand. I've thought about all of that already, but I do think we should tell him. Imagine how he would feel if we didn't? How would we explain the past two days? Of course he has to know, Harry."

"Yeah, I know. I was going to tell him anyway, but I just wanted to hear that it was a good idea first."

Hermione laughed shortly. "I'm glad you think my opinion is automatically a good idea."

Harry began to close the door. "Usually," he said with a sly grin and clicked it shut.

Hermione chuckled and made her way down the stairs and towards the scent of Molly Weasley's cooking. She smiled. Today was a going to be a good day, she just knew it.

...

"So we're really doing it then?" Ron asked quietly.

The trio were lounging on a patch of dry grass a few feet from the back door. After a fulfilling breakfast, Harry had motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him out the door. Awkwardly announcing that he was going for a walk, he was oblivious to Ginny following their retreating backs with narrowed eyes. Hermione however did see the action. She sighed. That was something she would have to deal with later.

Hermione had neatly explained to Ron and his shocked expression exactly what they had been called to Hogwarts to do. He hadn't really noticed her absence since she had recently taken to staying at the school often, but he had questioned why Harry had gone. Whenever Harry was involved, it was never really a good thing.

They hadn't really discussed it since the bust up after Hermione announced she was going back to school, but the three of them were heading in separate directions when term started back in a week, and this was what the conversation had finally turned to.

"I suppose we are," Hermione said, reaching for her boyfriend's hand.

Their relationship had been going fairly well over the summer. It was sweet and comfortable and everything Hermione had imagined it to be. Sure, there were moments of awkwardness and their usual arguments happened, but something had changed after the first time they had slept together. There was now a closeness and understanding they shared that they had never had before. Ron grasped her hand tight and smiled at her.

"I can't believe Ron and I are going to the Ministry and you're going to Hogwarts," Harry said, shaking his head at Hermione.

"I know," she said. "But I just have to do this. You get that, right?"

"Yeah, I understand. Probably more so because of what the hat said, but yeah, Auror training won't be your thing."

"Still sucks, though," Ron mumbled.

Hermione put her head on his shoulder. "We'll write and I'll be home during the holidays. It won't be too bad." She used her free hand to absentmindedly draw patterns on his leg with her finger. "But I have to go up to Hogwarts before the first. There's stuff that the four of us have to do apparently. And we need to make sure that Malfoy actually gets the chair."

"Are you sure that he's actually going to get it though? He's hardly reliable."

Hermione stilled her hand and lifted her head up to look at Ron. "I thought we'd quit with the 'he can't be trusted with anything because he's Malfoy' nonsense. Do you think that, too?" she said, turning to Harry, who shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not questioning his capability... whatever it is he has to do... but this is a massive favour for us, and do you really think he's going to put all of his effort into helping _us_?" he said.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Okay fine, you have a point. But he's not going to give up his chance to prove himself. That's his vice." When she was met with blank stares she sighed and continued. "He's a typical Slytherin. _The_ Slytherin, apparently. Therefore, he's always going to want to be on the winning side – and at the top, it seems. This is the chance for him and his family to do exactly that."

Harry smirked. "I bet Narcissa will be throwing him into our arms as soon as she hears."

"Oh, I don't think so," Hermione said. She plucked a weary looking daisy from the grass.

"What?" Ron turned and looked at her.

"Do you two really know nothing about people?" Hermione said in an exasperated tone. "I don't think Narcissa will even find out about this."

"Why not?" Harry barked.

"Because Malfoy won't tell her," Hermione shot at him.

"Again, _why not_?" Harry said.

Hermione could see his temper rising, so she sighed and began to explain. "Narcissa Malfoy may be a Malfoy and a Black at that, but first and foremost she is a mother. Don't look at me like that! She was ready to betray Voldemort just to find her son, or do you like to forget that, too? Therefore, I can't see her being comfortable with Draco being in the middle of anything, really. She also made Snape take an Unbreakable Vow in order to keep him protected. It's obvious she's protective of her son. So something like this? Where he's been named a 'reincarnated Salazar Slytherin'? Most likely that would be her worst nightmare. She thought she'd saved him from the life Lucius led and being Slytherin's magical heir would definitely not be a step in the right direction. Malfoy knows this and I definitely can't see him going home to tell his mother." Hermione huffed. Sometimes she really questioned how these boys functioned without her.

"What about Lucius then? Surely his father would be proud to hear the good news," Ron spat.

"Oh goodness, no," Hermione said shaking her head. "He would gladly tell Narcissa before going to Lucius."

"Uh, why?"

"Because telling Lucius something like that would just be the catalyst to recalling the surviving Death Eaters together and starting another war. He would immediately make Draco the new leader and a whole new bunch of ideals would be released. No doubt, Muggle-Born hatred related. Another heir of Slytherin? You have got to be kidding. That attention and nonsense would be the last thing Draco would want."

Harry and Ron both stared at her for a moment. "You seem to know an awful lot about this, Hermione. How the hell do you know Malfoy so well?"

"I don't," she said calmly. "I simply observe and take an interest in understanding people. Remember that's what we're supposed to be doing?"

"It's not like I want to spend a whole load of time thinking about Malfoy," Harry mumbled. Hermione laughed.

"So... he's totally alone in this?" Ron said with a frown on his face.

"Yes, I suppose he is. I can't imagine him letting any of his _friends_ in on this either."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Slytherins don't have friends. They have people they need and people who are considered socially appropriate around them. Look at who Malfoy hung around with at school. Crabbe and Goyle? Come on, even Malfoy needs more stimulating acquaintances than that. They were just his pureblood muscle."

"God, Hermione, you really do _get_ him don't you?" Harry said in a shocked tone.

Hermione blinked at him. Did he really think she had some kind of connection with Malfoy? She fought off a giggle. Ludicrous. But he was kind of right. If she thought about it, she really did understand someone rather well for being enemies for years. A small traitorous voice murmured in the back of her head: _but were we really enemies?_ The animosity was driven by the position of their parents rather than what she and Malfoy had actually done to each other. She tried imagining for a moment a world that existed where neither parents lived and they had been introduced without blood labels. _Would they have gotten on?_

Hermione shook her head to get rid of the traitorous thoughts and images that were running through her head. "When looked at objectively and with titles, anyone's behaviour can be predicted," she said offhandedly. "Especially Slytherins."

Ron and Harry seemed to accept her answer, but her racing heart and sudden sense of guilt told Hermione that she wasn't exactly being entirely honest with her friends, nor herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is still not mine.

* * *

_The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Saturday, 1__st__ September, 09:43_

It hit Hermione hard; a tonne of bricks crashing down onto her head kind of hard.

She had been perfectly happy during her last week at the Burrow. It was probably the most carefree she had been in years, and maybe the happiest Harry had been _ever_. She truly didn't want to think about anything else in the meantime – especially not going back to school without her friends or her new responsibilities or whatever the hell was happening to her, Harry, Hannah and Malfoy. Nope, definitely not that. Ignorance was bliss. For then, at least.

However, when it came to the night before she was to leave on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione finally let reality set in and focused on the question that was on all of their minds: _what the hell was going on_? But my, did it come crashing down. She had never let herself ignore her curiosity before, so leaving things to the last minute was something of a new experience for her – something she found she would never ever do again.

Therefore, this was why Hermione was found by Ginny at this time in the morning, asleep on her desk, with her things still unpacked and strewn over every possible surface of her bedroom.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed from the doorway.

"What?" Hermione mumbled onto her makeshift pillow of books and paper. She attempted to fall back asleep but startled herself awake at the realisation that she was in a half-sitting, slouched position. _I'm not in bed!_ she thought wildly, as she shot upwards, blinking rapidly at her surroundings. "Oh no!" she exclaimed when she saw the mess of the small desk. "Oh _god_ no!" she further exclaimed when she turned around in her chair to see the rest of the room. Hermione met Ginny's shocked stare, and matched it.

"What the hell happened in here?" Ginny said, picking up a scrunched up piece of paper by the door. She tried to flatten it out before starting to read it. Hermione shot out of her chair and grabbed it out of her friend's hand.

"Sorry, it's just research stuff," Hermione mumbled, trying to see if there was anything important on the piece of paper. What she had managed to cobble together during the evening and night truly wasn't enough. She was still no further forward on understanding what they were to do. There was no mention of Hogwarts being infused with magic _anywhere_, and she was beginning to get frustrated. Hermione was already annoyed with herself for not asking Professor McGonagall to look at the Ravenclaw tomes she had mentioned.

"Rowena Ravenclaw?" Ginny suddenly asked, and Hermione whipped her head around at her; Ginny was holding up a book. It was a short, unofficial biography Hermione had managed to find in the scarce Burrow library, which had proved to be pretty much useless. Much like the rest of the information she had scavenged for during the night.

Hermione started to panic. No one could know. Not yet, maybe not ever. "Is this about the Horcruxes?" Ginny asked, stunning Hermione. That certainly hadn't been what she was expecting her to say.

"Uhm... yes? Yes!" Hermione said, grabbing the alternative explanation. She had entirely forgotten that Harry had told Ginny everything. It was his way of making up for leaving her behind. Of course they couldn't tell the public what exactly Voldemort had done; Horcruxes were terrible magic and it would put ideas in people's heads if it became common knowledge. She, Harry and Ron had only told a few select members of the Order what they had been up to, much to many of their horrors, but it was still largely a secret and the fact that Harry trusted Ginny with this knowledge meant a lot to the redhead. "It's old stuff," she said, continuing the lie. "I was sorting through my things while I was packing for Hogwarts, and I guess I must have fallen asleep."

Ginny seemed to accept the lie, and nodded at her. "You need any help?" she said with a sly grin. "I mean, we do leave for the station in half an hour."

Hermione checked her watch and made a sound similar to that of a yelp. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, and began to throw random pieces of paper and books into her small beaded bag, which was lying on the desk. "Okay, everything goes in here," she instructed Ginny and held up the bag.

"Uh... hate to disagree with you, Hermione... but we have to take a trunk to Hogwarts, remember?"

Hermione paused and looked at her. "But this is so much more practical," she said, almost pouting at the injustice.

"Well, who said _all_ of your things had to go in your trunk," Ginny said, grinning mischievously.

Hermione returned the grin and pointed at her. "I knew I kept you around for a reason," she said, picking up her wand from the desk. She pointed it into the bag. "_Accio trunk!_"

A rather large brown trunk flew out of the disproportionate bag in Hermione's hand and landed neatly on the bed, disturbing the paper on it and causing a few sheets to flutter to the floor. "Okay, uhm," she said, staring at the room. "I got this." She then waved her wand and the room stared to rearrange itself into a much neater manner.

...

After having to duck and weave Hermione's flying 'light reading' for several minutes while the room packed itself, the girls were laid across the bed, severely out of breath and panting.

"Next time..." Ginny huffed. "Not such exuberant wand waving."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I agree. But I thought I was going to be late!"

Ginny rolled over and sat up on her elbows, facing Hermione. She rolled her eyes when Hermione caught her gaze and sat up in a similar position. "Yeah, like Mum would ever let us be late. Especially this year."

"She's going to write to you every week isn't she?" Hermione said with a smirk, leaning her chin on her palm.

"More like every day!" Ginny wailed dramatically, waving her arms above her head. She rolled onto her back and sighed. "It's going to be entirely different this year, isn't it?" she said in a defeated tone.

Hermione gulped. She agreed; it certainly was going to be different – but they were probably not thinking along the same lines as to why. Molly had been surprisingly understanding of Ron's decision to not return to school (becoming an Auror, however, was another problem entirely), but for Ginny there was no argument; she was going back to do her exams and that was that. Not that Ginny was against the idea – she just would have liked the option. Molly's recent tendencies to baby her and be even _more so_ protective was getting on the youngest Weasley's last nerve and she couldn't quite frankly wait to leave for the new term.

Whereas, Hermione, on the other hand was more worried about her new role in the school and what exactly that would entail. For a moment, she was particularly grateful for Professor McGonagall assigning the eighth years an entirely separate tower; because that way she wouldn't have to explain to anyone why she wasn't allowed to stay in the Gryffindor dormitories anymore.

"Yes..." Hermione finally replied warily. "I do think it will be different this year. Different entirely." She then copied Ginny and rolled onto her back with a sigh, and attempted to contemplate what the hell she was to do next in the stark silence which followed.

...

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, Saturday, 1__st__ September, 10:07_

"Mother, for the last time – no, you shall not be escorting me to the station." Draco sighed in exasperation at Narcissa Malfoy's tenth attempt to follow her son out of the door.

He was standing in the grand entrance hall of the Manor, his Hogwarts trunk on his left, and a grand ornate black chair on his right. Draco had been attempting to leave for school for the last half hour, and had been unable to leave his own home without the thwarting of his own mother. He sighed again.

Narcissa shifted on her feet and wrung her hands. Draco narrowed his eyes at the action; she was not typically a woman with any kind of nervous disposition whatsoever, and her new attitude was another thing that the Fart Lord had changed with his stupid war. And it pissed Draco off. The disgusting, hypocritical, half-blooded snake had no right to change his mother. None at all.

"I just wish you would tell me what you are doing with... _that_," she said and gestured to the lone chair in the large hall. They both briefly glanced at it, and its presence suddenly seemed more prominent for a moment.

Draco felt uncomfortable just looking at it. He hated it. He hated what it represented and what it meant for him now. However, most of all, he hated that it was so different to the other Founders chairs and what its most recent use had been.

He hadn't been exaggerating when he told McGonagall that he knew exactly where the damned chair was. He had looked at it every day for the past year and a half; exactly the amount of time that Mouldy-Voldy had lived in his home, incidentally. But he hadn't recognised anything about it until McGonagall had let them have a look at the one in her office and he had seen the inscriptions on them. While they four chairs were meant to be different, there were similarities between the Runes on them – and Draco recognised it straightaway. He had a feeling that Golden Granger would have, too. Therefore, that was when he knew that the chair in his own home was exactly the one they had been looking for.

Draco knew that the others thought it would be difficult for him to find it, but he almost didn't want to tell them that it was as easy as him walking into his own dining room. There was no harm in letting them think that he'd gone out on a limb to fetch this for them, right?

But it was true; the very chair that sat at the head of the Malfoy dinner table, the same chair that Lord Voldetwat had occupied during his... _stay_... was in fact the so-called throne of Salazar Slytherin himself. And now it apparently belonged to Draco.

He'd wanted to laugh at the irony. Well, he did – initially. But when Draco saw what it looked like and what that would mean, the hesitation set in. Because, you see, his chair wasn't the same as the other three. Where the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff chairs were golden in colour and decoration – the Slytherin one was black. Severus Snape's wardrobe kind of black. And it scared Draco.

Being particularly adept at Ancient Runes as he was, and not being a _complete_ idiot, Draco could tell by just looking at the ancient artefact that anyone would be incapable of performing magic on it. He'd finally understood why the dunderhead Hufflepuffs had manually carried the chair up to the head's office; even a bloody simple levitation charm couldn't be performed on it.

It was why he knew that no Malfoy, nor even Tom Cripple had charmed its colour, no, Draco knew that the difference in colour of the Slytherin chair was to do with the magic within itself and nothing else. It was exactly why he knew that he was scared at doing what he now knew had to be done.

The darkness of the chair reflected the Darkness of Salazar Slytherin's magic, the darkness of _him_. And now Draco had to let the same happen to him. Did that mean he was also a Dark wizard? He was the modern representative of the bastard, so why not? But then why was Draco confused about the connotations of his discoveries? Because he didn't _feel_ it; he didn't feel it within himself. Draco knew he wasn't entirely bad. He'd been surrounded by enough badness, and he felt confident in his ability to recognise it – and he didn't see it in himself. He hadn't even killed anyone. So why the fuck was he being compared to a Dark wizard?

Nothing made sense, and Draco just wanted to leave the house. He didn't even call it home anymore – that had gone as soon as the idealistic rose-tinted view of his childhood had disappeared. However, he did feel partially guilty at leaving his mother behind in the dark, dreary, mansion. But no, he couldn't really afford to put anyone else first at the moment. His brain hurt from all the thinking he had done over the past week, and it hadn't even gotten him anywhere.

He'd decided to just go back to school, meet with the rest of the group. Group? Team? Band of merry men? Who knows what they were, but they were certainly stuck in this shitty situation together. Draco had decided just to dump the chair on them and let Detective Granger solve everything out; it was what she normally did. He'd just turn up whenever they wanted him to. That's all they wanted from him, anyway, wasn't it?

But as one problem after the other seemed to follow him around, Draco had to send a letter to McGonagall a few days previous in order to arrange transport for the damn chair. As, due to its inability to have magic performed on it, Draco wasn't even able to apparate it with him to Hogwarts, henceforth that was why there was a Hogwarts carriage waiting outside of Malfoy Manor's front gates. McGonagall had agreed to allow him to send the chair by Thestral-drawn carriage, but he was to continue to travel by train as apparently 'all students travel by rail'.

Draco sighed again. "It's nothing dangerous, I promise," he said, finally responding to his mother's question. "McGonagall just wants to have a look at it for historical research reasons." He avoided her gaze. While she wasn't any kind of Legilimens, he still couldn't look in her eyes and lie – she was his mother after all.

"Oh, alright then," she relented. "It's not like we want the thing anyway. Well, have a good year, Draco." She reached up to hold his cheek and her worried expression hardened. "And don't take any nonsense." The fierce look in her eyes then died as suddenly as it had appeared and she patted him once on the cheek and smiled. "See you at Christmas."

Draco blinked, but ignored the strange interaction. She was suddenly ushering him out of the door and he felt his trunk bump into his legs as he suddenly found himself outside. Narcissa had levitated it out after him, and was now standing in the doorway. "Mally!" she barked, and a small house elf immediately appeared at her side.

"Yes, mistress?" Mally said with a bow.

"Carry this chair to the gates. Take Nally if it is too heavy for you alone."

"Yes, mistress," Mally said, and disappeared for a moment and reappeared with an even smaller house elf.

"Well... goodbye Draco," Narcissa said, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Goodbye, Mother," Draco responded emotionlessly.

The two Malfoys ignored the struggling house elves as they carried the large, black, ornate chair down the stairs between them, as they exchanged their farewells. Narcissa walked back into the house without another look at her son. The door magically swung shut behind her.

Draco stayed where he was for a moment, but shook his head and turned to begin walking down the drive. He was, however, stopped by the slow progress of the two elves. He huffed; he didn't have the time for this.

"No, no, stop!" he barked, startling the elves to a standstill. "Can't you use your own magic on it?"

It hadn't occurred to him before, but he knew that house elf magic was different to that of a wizard's, therefore maybe his own elves could apparate with the chair, even though he could not. Draco growled; knowing this a few days ago would have saved him a lot of trouble.

"Yes Master Draco," Mally responded meekly. "Mally and Nally can take the chair to the gates with magic."

Draco frowned. They could probably even take it all the way to Hogwarts if they could take it to the end of the road. He contemplated telling them to do that for a moment, but relented; everything had already been arranged for it to be transported manually. His frown deepened.

"Just take it to the end of the gates and put it in the carriage," he bit out. Casting a feather-weight charm on his trunk, he grabbed the handle and began to wheel it behind him, stalking down the drive to the apparition point. It was barely after ten o'clock in the morning and Draco was in a bad mood already. He had a feeling that it was going to be a terrible day in general. Great, just fucking great, he thought to himself as the two elves disappearing in front of him with the black chair in tow.

By the time Draco reached the apparition point just outside of the Manor's boundaries, the carriage had already gone. He was silently grateful to avoid the skeletal looking Thestrals. Draco knew that he would now be able to see them, but he couldn't bring himself to face the exact truth of that just yet.

Closing his eyes with a sigh, he turned on the spot and disappeared from the green rolling English countryside with a _crack!_. The sound echoed in the silent narrow lane, and disturbed the white peacocks peacefully striding by.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello again! Yep, no battling monsters for Draco in order to get the chair, nope. How it came to be in the Malfoy's possession will be brought up again. I said it at the start, but this story is a long one, so it's a slow burner and I will love you for sticking with it! (I love you all anyway for just being here).

I'm going to keep up the way that Draco includes insulting words in Voldemort's name, so I'd love for you all to submit your own suggestions!

Next chapter is the train ride, and we're finally at Hogwarts - yay! (I'm excited for you to see the tower, I like it very much).

_**Holly - xo **_


	8. Chapter 8

Having done it around thirty times over the past eight years, one would have thought Hermione knew how to entirely occupy the eight hour train journey from London to Hogsmede. However, to her frustration, she'd tried reading, chatting with her friends, napping, and even studying – but six hours into this particular journey, she was bored out of her mind.

Taking one last look at the British countryside rolling past her window, Hermione sighed and stood up. Maybe a stretch of her legs would ease the crippling boredom. She glanced at Ginny from the door; who was sound asleep and curled up on the seat across from the one Hermione had just vacated. Where it took a few hundred pages of a book for Hermione's eyes to even be heavy, Ginny was capable of shutting her eyes and falling asleep right away and Hermione envied that so much.

She smiled and shook her head at the adorable image she left behind as she entered the corridor. Despite not having a lot in common, and having been lumped together too often in the past, Hermione had grown very fond of the fiery Weasley. They had become good friends, and where Hermione had worried what their relationship would be in her return and her dating Ron – it hadn't particularly changed at all, much to her delight.

"Watch out!" a voice suddenly yelled, as Hermione gently shut the compartment door behind her.

Hermione whirled around and was immediately met with the sight of a firework speeding ominously towards her face from down the corridor. With a squeal and a strange fumbling movement, she ducked and rolled onto the floor. If she had learned anything about Fred and George Weasley's products, it was that a person should definitely _not_ take them on; best plan of action was to avoid them altogether if that person wanted to survive said confrontation.

"Sorry!" the young student called, as he leaped over her and raced down the corridor after the wayward firework.

Hermione's heart was racing and she was breathing heavily. _A firework? Really?_ She chastised herself and slumped against the compartment door, still sitting on the floor. She had duelled Death Eaters, seen a werewolf transform, pretended to be Bellatrix Lestrange and ridden a dragon, yet was finding herself startled and on the floor in fright from a _firework_. Ashamed of herself, she remained sitting on the floor. _Maybe I truly am losing my Gryffindor qualities_, she thought sadly before she was suddenly interrupted by someone tripping over her extended legs.

She jumped and pulled her legs in quickly. "Sorry!" she exclaimed at the fallen person.

"Fuck!" they exclaimed they hit the ground, impacting on the carpeted floor with their hands and knees.

"Are you... _oh_." Hermione had began to ask if they were injured, but had realised who it was.

She had knocked Draco Malfoy literally on his ass and she didn't know whether to laugh or run.

He scrambled into a sitting position and leaned against the opposite compartment door before he finally said something. "Don't tell me you're this clumsy when you duel, Granger?" he sneered.

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to respond in kind, but when she saw his smirk, she realised that he wasn't making a scathing comment – he was _teasing_ her. In good humour. As in, trying to joke with her. _Malfoy_. Trying to be funny. Hermione blinked several times at him in shock.

"I was the one who fell over, yet you look like the one who's been concussed."

Hermione gaped some more before she blurted out: "Are you injured?"

"From a trip?" Malfoy said, giving her a strange look. "No, I barely felt it."

"Okay, good," she responded inattentively. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she became flustered. "No... I didn't mean... I just..." Hermione sighed and started over. "I didn't want to experience the Malfoy wrath," she said sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Well, you're lucky that you caught me on a good day, then," he responded, equally as sarcastic.

"Oh, pray tell, what caused such a wonder? Did you get the chance to burn some puppies on your way here? Maybe some ferrets? God knows, you hate the things." Hermione shocked herself with her statement, but she was so confused about their entire situation that she was acting erratically. _Why is he still sitting here? What does he want?_ she thought to herself with a frown.

Even more surprisingly, Malfoy didn't hex her – no, he didn't even insult her. Instead, he _smiled_. "Thank fuck _someone_ is normal around here," he said.

"_Excuse me_?" Hermione asked incredulously. What? _What?_

Malfoy waved his hand between the two of them. "You and me," he said, as if that explained anything. "We hate each other and that's never going to change. A lot has changed and I don't like change. _This_ is the same, so I'm glad."

Hermione frowned. "Uh... thanks?" she said warily.

"You're different though," he said, surprising her further.

"What do you mean?"

"We might interact the same, but you're all... different since coming back."

"Well of course I bloody am!" Hermione exclaimed. He was angering her. So _that's_ what he was going on about. How _dare_ he treat the past year so brazenly. "You'd be kidding yourself if you hadn't changed with all the things that have happened!" she continued in the same shocked tone. "Is that what you're doing, Malfoy? Pretending that none of it ever happened? Because if you are, you're a lot more stupid than I ever thought you could be!"

Hermione was breathing heavily, anticipating his reaction. Her blood was pumping and she almost wanted to argue with him. _Come on_, she thought, _fight back!_ She was ready for this argument, but she didn't know why. Hermione had this strange urge to prove to him how she had changed – maybe how much _he_ had changed as well, because god forbid even she knew that Malfoy was different, too.

But he didn't say anything. He didn't even do anything. Malfoy simply sat in a mirrored position to Hermione, with his back against the compartment door, legs crossed in front of him. He simply stared at her, saying nothing. Hermione felt herself become agitated at the suspense. _Why isn't he doing anything?_

"I got it," he finally said.

Hermione blinked in surprise at his calm tone. "You what?" she shot out.

"I got the chair," he hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

"Oh... _oh_," Hermione said as she suddenly realised what he meant. "Hold on." She cast a quick non-verbal _Muffilato_ around them and gestured with her hand for him to continue.

"What spell was that?" Malfoy asked.

"Something that ensures no one will hear our conversation," she replied, meeting his steady gaze. "So where was it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on," she said, leaning forward. "We're all in this mess together, whether you like it or not. Just tell me where it was. It might be useful information for all you know."

Malfoy was silent for a moment before he replied. "It was at the Manor," he stated simply.

"You're kidding," Hermione said. She sat back against the compartment door.

"Dining room," Malfoy elaborated. "Been used to seat Lord Crapdemort in his meetings for the past year, so I sincerely doubt that anyone will miss it."

It was Hermione's turn to be silent. There was a lot of information to process. The fact that she was conversing with Malfoy in an entirely normal manner shouldn't astound her so much – but it was the fact that they were sat on the floor of the Hogwarts Express together, talking about something only they knew about and hearing him degrade Voldemort like that was what Hermione found truly baffling.

"How on earth did the Malfoys get their hands on Salazar Slytherin's magical throne?" She knew that the Malfoys liked their opulence, but a _throne_? Hermione dreaded to imagine what other treasures they had stored away in the vast, grey mansion.

Malfoy shrugged. "Fuck knows," he said. "There is a record book of sorts kept that contains information on some of the collectibles in the Manor, and I tried looking in that. I found the batch that it came from, but I didn't recognise the name. From around a hundred years ago, I think. 'Gaunt' it was. Can't be any kind of purebloods if _I_ don't recognise it. How they got their hands on it then, I have no idea."

"Now you _have_ to be kidding," Hermione said with wide eyes.

"Why?" he asked, perking up. "You know something?"

Hermione let out a cold laugh. "'_Not a pureblood_' – ha! The Gaunts are only _the_ purest blood family in magical existence, if you could call it that. So much so that the line died out because of it. No wonder Marvolo ended up in a shack like he did if his family sold things like Salazar Slytherin's throne." Hermione scoffed.

"How the hell do you know all this?" Malfoy growled at her.

"Oh, because I'm a Muggle-Born I shouldn't know all about pureblood families?" she replied sarcastically. When he silently glowered at her, it told her all she needed to know; that it was exactly what he thought. Ignoring his prejudiced insinuation and the strange sense of hurt she felt, Hermione began to explain. "The Gaunts were the last living descendents of Slytherin," she said.

"Well that explains a lot," Malfoy muttered.

"It explains a lot to me, too. But yes, the Gaunts were indeed a 'pureblood' family – something which they prided themselves upon almost to the extreme. You could say that they were more into it than the Blacks, if you get where I'm going."

"I do," he replied with a frown. Hermione could tell that his curiosity was winning over his battle between not wanting to talk to her and finding out who the Gaunts were. Seeing him visibly struggle made her fight back a smile.

"Yes, well, eventually so much inbreeding and inept money control left the last three living Gaunts particularly terrible at magic, and living in squalor. That was, until, the last female, Merope, ran off to marry a Muggle." Hermione suppressed her urge to laugh at the way Malfoy turned his nose up at her last statement. She was feeling too smug about the knowledge she was about to divulge, and she quite frankly couldn't wait to see his reaction. "And where the last pureblood Gaunts died off without producing any pureblood heirs, Merope and her Muggle husband went on to have a son who would become the most powerful dark wizard of all time."

Malfoy's jaw physically dropped. "You have got to be fucking kidding," he muttered in shock.

Hermione couldn't hide the grin that was on her face. "Merope Gaunt married a man named Tom Riddle," she said.

Malfoy was still gaping at her. "I knew he was a half-blood... but _shit_," he said, shaking his head. "Descendent of Slytherin married a Muggle..." he muttered to himself. "Not even a half-blood or a... Muggle-Born... an actual Muggle."

Hermione silently watched him for a moment. This was Malfoy; the first person who ever called her a filthy Mudblood. She knew his ideas on blood purity would never change... but listening to him, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little spark of hope inside her as she realised that what he was saying implied that he was adverse to _Muggles_ and not non-purebloods. _It's progress, at least_, she thought with a sad smile.

"He was a proper half-blood, then," Malfoy said with a laugh.

Hermione smirked. "Do you know what the best part of it was?" she said smugly.

Malfoy just jerked his head at her as if to say, 'go on then', so she did. She explained how Merope had 'hook-winked' Riddle Sr and how the 'filthy Muggle' had deserted the crazy bitch when she'd finally stopped giving him the love potion. Hermione then went on to have an amicable conversation with Draco Malfoy in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. Neither of them knew how much time had passed, and neither particularly cared.

...

"So, you're saying that Bum Riddle Jr's mum was an ugly little shit?" Malfoy said with a sly grin.

"Well... uhm... no... not exactly." Hermione had described Merope Gaunt as 'not being known for her looks', but Malfoy had seemingly taken it to the extreme.

"No fucking wonder she said 'I hope looks like his father'!" Malfoy then threw his head back and let out a guffaw – something of which Hermione was bewitched at seeing. A smile began to grow slowly on her own face, but it wasn't due to the joke.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she noticed the compartment door next to Malfoy open, and Blaise Zabini stepped out.

The tall Slytherin stood there for a moment, staring at Hermione and Malfoy – and suddenly Hermione felt hot under the scrutiny. _What the hell must this look like?!_ she thought, ducking her head to avoid the two teen's gazes.

"I'd wondered where you'd gotten to, Draco," Zabini finally said. Hermione's face grew hot as she blatantly heard the tone of barely-concealed laughter in his voice.

"Oh, miss me, Blaise?" Malfoy said scathingly. "I've barely been gone five minutes." He waved his hand and scoffed.

"You've been gone for an hour, you twat," Zabini replied dryly. "I thought I'd have to save you from whichever toilet you'd become stuck in."

Hermione and Malfoy briefly exchanged a wide-eyed look of panic before they similarly scrambled to their feet and shuffled as far away from each other as was possible in the relatively narrow corridor. Hermione glared at Zabini's smug smirk that he wasn't even trying to hide. _He's enjoying the fact that he just found Malfoy and I together_, Hermione thought spitefully. She silently vowed to get him back for it.

None of the three teens wanted to break the dense silence that now filled their space. They were, however, saved by the appearance of a certain redhead. The compartment door behind Hermione slid open to reveal a literally-just-woken-up Ginny.

"Hermione..." Ginny yawned and blinked, taking in her surroundings. When she noticed the two Slytherins and the silent glares being exchanged between the three, she perked up. "Do I need to hex anybody?" she hissed, with her wand suddenly in her hand – pointed mainly at Zabini.

"I think you should be thinking about performing some kind of charm before any hex, dear," Zabini said with a smirk.

"Excuse me?" Ginny hissed. She raised her wand higher.

He merely gestured to her hair, and Hermione followed his line of sight. She let out an involuntary giggle. Ginny whipped her head around to glare at her.

"Sleep hair," Hermione muttered in her friend's ear.

Ginny's hand immediately shot to her hair, and it roamed about a bit before it flattened the cluster of red hair that was sticking out in an array away from her head – clearly the side which she had been sleeping on.

"Oh, whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "At least I don't look like a cunt twenty-four seven like _you_," Ginny said with a flick of her long (and particularly ruffled) hair.

Hermione gasped and Malfoy snickered. Zabini simply remained smirking at her. He reached his hand behind him and opened the compartment door from which he had come. He paused and replied: "Next time, I expect better from you, Weasley." Zabini then entered the compartment and shut the door behind him.

Ginny and Hermione automatically then looked at Malfoy, who shrugged. "See you later, Gryffindorks," he said.

"Oh bugger off, Malfoy," Ginny said. She glared at him one last time and strode back into her own compartment.

But instead of following Zabini into the Slytherin compartment, Malfoy leaned closer to Hermione. "I knew you hadn't told her," he whispered. He then leaned back to smirk knowingly at her.

Hermione glared at him. "Oh, and I bet you told Zabini?" She crossed her arms.

"That's different." Malfoy frowned.

"Oh, sure it is, Malfoy," she said sarcastically. Hermione then sighed. "I'll see you up there," she said, and slid open her compartment door.

Hermione walked in and shut the door in his face before he could say anything else. She dropped onto the seat next to her and sighed again.

"So what did he say?" Ginny suddenly said, making Hermione jump.

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. It was no use asking how she knew that he had said something to her. "Oh, you know, the usual. Insults and whatnot."

Ginny snorted and crossed her arms. "I hate that prick."

"Yes, well, I think that's the norm," Hermione replied.

Ginny laughed and stood up. "Come on," she said. "Time to change into our robes, I think. It got dark like half an hour ago. To be honest, I'm surprised you weren't already changed. What were you doing out there anyway?"

Hermione was glad that Ginny was suddenly immersed in fetching her school robes from her trunk – so she wouldn't be able to see the red flush that began to grow over Hermione's face. _What am I feeling guilty for? I have nothing to feel flustered about!_ Hermione silently chastised herself.

"Went out for a walk," she replied simply. "I couldn't handle the snoring, you see." Hermione smirked, as Ginny whipped around to glare at her.

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny."

Hermione giggled as she turned around to get her own robes from her trunk.

...

"It's so strange to see you not in school colours," Ginny said, staring warily at Hermione.

Around an hour later, the two girls were standing in the particularly muddy lane waiting on a carriage to take them up to the school.

"I know," Hermione said, taking a look down at her robes. "It's awfully strange for me, too, you know."

"All of you are just wearing black and the school emblem, though, aren't you?"

"Yes, all of us so-called eighth years aren't wearing the old uniforms. We aren't technically students. We shouldn't actually even be here," Hermione said with a dry laugh.

Ginny smiled in response. "Did you see Neville on your walk?" she asked suddenly.

"I didn't see much of anyone, to be honest," Hermione replied. Her heart skipped a beat at the reminder of the lie. "Oh, there's a carriage!" Hermione abruptly exclaimed, changing the subject. She grabbed her trunk and made her way over to it, ready to climb in. But she came to a sudden halt mid-stride. "Oh!" she gasped, and clasped her hands over her mouth.

She could see the Thestrals.

And the fact that she could made her feel sick to the stomach. It was like a harsh reminder of the horrors she had seen; a punch in the gut when she thought everything was finally normal.

But it wasn't. It wouldn't ever be.

_They're exactly as Harry described them as being_, she thought, taking a curious step forward. Hermione then gasped and started to hyperventilate. She wheeled around to face Ginny with tears streaming down her face.

"The first!" she exclaimed, startling Ginny. "I can't remember who the first was!"

Hermione knew that she could now see the winged animals due to the fact that she had witnessed someone die – that much was obvious. But her problem was that she couldn't remember who the first was, and she felt immensely guilty for it.

"Oh, Hermione..." Ginny said softly. She walked forward to hug her friend, who responded by gripping onto her and sobbing inconsolably. "Come on, let's get you up to the castle."

Hermione lifted her head and sniffed. She nodded and stepped tentatively back to her trunk. Picking it up, she tried to ignore the Thestral's presence as she stepped up into the carriage. She let out a deep sigh when she sat down inside. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall of the enclosed area.

She felt the carriage move as another person entered, but ignored it. It happened another couple of times before the carriage began to finally move.

Hermione didn't care who was in the carriage with her; all she knew was that it wasn't Harry or Ron. The two people she needed most at that moment. She'd barely been away a day and she was missing them already. _How pathetic_, she thought.

She sighed again, and kept her eyes shut for the entire journey up to the school. Hermione ignored the friendly chatter that filled the carriage, and only stirred when she felt a hand on her arm – telling her that they had arrived. This wasn't how she had intended on starting the year. Nope, not at all.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay! A quick update!

Please review!

_**Holly - xo**_


	9. Chapter 9

She had cried. And he had seen her.

Draco had seen the Thestral for the first time that day, too, but where he had simply been mildly disgusted at its skeletal appearance, Granger had full on broken down in front of him after seeing it for the first time.

The whole incident shouldn't have made him as uncomfortable as it did, but Draco couldn't help but feel a little worried when Hermione didn't show up for the welcoming feast. It wasn't the fact that she was upset that made him uncomfortable, it was how she appeared so defeated. Hermione Granger had no right to feel that way about anything anymore – and even Draco Malfoy bloody knew it. Granger was capable of withstanding anything and a stupid winged beast shouldn't have made her cry.

The night they had been brought to his home was something Draco never allowed himself to think about. It was mainly because it had given him nightmares for a month and scars from what Lord IDon'tWantToEverFuckingDie Voldemort had rewarded his family with after the prisoners' escape still hadn't faded. But it was also because since the events of that night, he saw things differently.

After seeing his classmates fight so hard for each other and protect each other with such intensity that was almost frightening, Draco had taken a hard look at his own life. Sure, he knew his parents would defend him to their dying breaths, but he doubted they would throw themselves in front of a curse for him, like he knew Granger would for those two idiots.

It angered him how someone as… _useful _as her, would just give up her life for dunderheads like Weasley and Potter. Examples as such were one of the many reasons Draco was glad only a quarter of the population had to suffer being a Gryffindor. They'd have died out long ago if there had been any more to commit unnecessary heroic acts.

But the fact of the matter still stood: Draco couldn't help but feel resentment for the fact that he didn't have anyone stupid enough to do something like that for him. And a little part of him wanted Granger to be that person.

He didn't know when it happened – maybe that night at Malfoy Manor – but Draco had suddenly seen Hermione Granger as a person. He didn't really know how that had occurred or what it changed, if anything. Sure, she was still annoying as shit and he wouldn't touch her with a barge pole, but he didn't _hate_ her anymore.

Wait… _what_?

Draco jerked suddenly and the fork which had been hanging absentmindedly from his hand dropped onto his plate, causing bits of food to splatter all up his front.

The horror he was currently feeling masked his annoyance at the snigger Blaise sent his way.

What _the fuck_ had he been thinking about?

Of course he hated Granger!

He hated the way she practically jumped out of her seat whenever she wanted to answer a question in class.

He hated the way she snorted when she laughed too hard.

He hated the way she pronounced words like 'garden' and 'bar' as if there were three R's instead of one.

He hated the way she blew on her parchment to dry the ink she had written.

He hated the way she always muttered under her breath in Potions to double check everything.

He hated the way she twirled her hair around her finger whenever she was writing an essay.

But most of all, he hated the way that she wouldn't get out of his fucking head.

Draco groaned and shut his eyes. _What the hell was happening?_

"Oh, please, _do_ tell. I am so very intrigued to know what exactly has caused Draco Malfoy to look so shocked," Blaise interrupted from his left.

Draco opened his eyes but couldn't even bear to look at his friend. He hadn't been able to look at him since Blaise had seen him and Granger on the train. The smugness was something that Draco just couldn't handle. He didn't fully understand why he was reacting like that though – what exactly had he and Granger done to feel so ashamed about?

_Had a civil conversation for over an hour, while pretending the past seven years hadn't occurred and that you two were friends, that's what_, a bitter voice in his head reminded him.

Draco successfully fought the urge to groan again. However, he was having difficulty fighting the urge to find Granger and confront her. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, rattle her and yell: "We hate each other! We fucking loathe each other's mere presence!" But he felt that it would be a little inappropriate and a lot weird.

But despite knowing he shouldn't, Draco still wanted to go see her. Why indeed hadn't she turned up for the welcoming feast? It was mandatory to attend was it not? He knew that it wasn't anything to do with the Founders stuff, because Hufflebott was at the Hufflepuff table, and McGonagall was seated up at the high table with all the other teachers. That meant that Granger must have still been shook up from earlier – which was annoying Draco more increasingly by the minute.

He turned to Blaise for the first time in hours. "When do you think they'll tell us where the eight year tower is?" he said as casually as he could manage.

Blaise gave him a side-eyed look before replying. "It's on the south side of the sixth floor, behind the portrait of the monks. Did you not read the letter?"

Draco ignored him and lunged over the table to grab the shirt of the sixth year Prefect he had noticed earlier. "What's the password to the eight year tower?" he growled in the boy's face.

"U... unity!" the young Slytherin squeaked.

Draco dropped the Prefect and shot out of his seat and strode out of the Great Hall purposefully, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other students – _nobody_ left during the welcoming feast, not even Draco Malfoy.

If Draco knew Granger like he thought he did, he knew that she would be up in that tower, over-thinking and being all pitiful and sad for herself – and somehow the image seemed wrong to him in this new strange universe, and he called upon himself to be the one to fix it.

...

The password was '_unity_'. Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. _McGonagall has a funny sense of humour if she thinks this is a good idea_, she thought bitterly as she climbed through the portrait into their new tower. 'Unity'? Was the headmistress having a laugh? Although, Hermione had to admit that making the strange assortment of eighth years houseless had been a rather good plan.

They were technically no longer proper students there; almost like a midway point between pupils and teachers. But more than that, the younger years knew that the eighteen of them were some of the most involved people in the war, and making them live and work together with no house emblems certainly gave the _impression_ of unity.

It was a political and manipulative move that Hermione was torn between despising and admiring. Creating passwords like that wasn't just wishful thinking, no, it was a passive-aggressive reminder to the eighth year students that they weren't just there to learn, their presence was so much more than that, and Hermione certainly knew it.

She felt like it had just been one thing after another that day. But on a certain level, Hermione didn't feel herself at all. Breaking down in public? Chatting with Draco Malfoy? Lying to Ginny to get away from going to the welcoming feast? Threatening a sixth year Prefect to give her the new password before they were allowed to? No, Hermione was definitely not feeling herself.

That was partly why she had chosen to be alone for the time being. She needed to sort her head out and nobody deserved to be around her in that particular mood. Usually, she would have gone to the library, but she wasn't even sure if it was even open yet. Plus, the reminder that she had lost her Prefect privileges was another blow.

Hermione sighed as the portrait swung shut behind her. Sure, the monks were a jolly bunch, but it wasn't the same as the Fat Lady. The thought of no longer passing through the Fat Lady every day started her off again. _Breathe through it, breathe through it_, she mentally chanted as she stood there breathing deeply, trying to force the tears away by willing it.

But then, as she slowly opened her eyes, she gasped. Hermione stood there in the entrance to the tower, gaping – taking it all in.

She was speechless. Their new common room was... there was no other word to describe it than... _stunning_. It was absolutely and utterly _stunning_. And Hermione was entirely in love with it.

The absence of house colours spoke loudly alone. It was surreal and enchanting at the same time. Hermione suddenly giggled. Of course this was all McGonagall's doing. She had been learning a lot about her Professor's personality since the summer had began, but this was the most she had been offered in the one go.

The main colours of the new common room were a deep purple and copper, and the room was accented with chocolate brown wood panelling on the walls that didn't consist of floor to ceiling windows. The floor was a mix of the same dark wood with squares of black carpeting in certain areas, acting as sort of rugs. The room had a dark ambiance about it, but it was well lit, it was warm, it was comforting.

She looked up and noticed that the high ceiling was decorated with the same wooden panelling, but in an intricate and elegant swirling pattern. A wide smile began to grow on her face; she utterly and truly goddamn loved the place – and it was so _her_.

With Hermione's mood suddenly brightened, she walked deeper into the large circular room to stand directly in the centre. There were couches, desks, bookshelves and a couple of fireplaces in the circular room; a rather standard common room. But there was an ambiance about it that seemed much more _mature_.

Suddenly, the portrait hole began to open, and Hermione's chest seized; she was frozen to the spot. Was she going to get into trouble for skipping out on the feast? Before she could think up a reasonable excuse as to why she was there, Hermione saw that the person entering the common room was Malfoy.

Hermione shoulders drooped in relief. She was certainly glad that it wasn't a teacher come to tell her off, but what did _he_ want? Shouldn't he be at the feast too? What was he going to say to her, if anything? Because, despite their earlier conversation, Hermione sincerely doubted that it made them immediate friends – and she really wasn't in the mood for how they would usually socialise.

...

Draco was right. She was up in the new tower. But when he saw her face, it didn't look as if she had been crying, she didn't even look sad. She just looked shocked at his appearance. _Dammit_, he thought, _you've made it weird. That's what you get for not thinking things through; she's going to think you're a complete twat now_.

"You're not crying," Draco suddenly blurted out, and immediately regretted it.

Granger flinched as if he had actually hit her. "I most definitely am not," she sniffed in reply, avoiding his gaze.

_Definitely a twat_, Draco thought. However, having the information he did on why she was there, Draco saw the situation a little differently from usual. Sure, she had replied in a tone she reserved only for him, but Draco saw through it and it made him feel a little sad. How much had he missed out on just because he hadn't taken a proper look or had known everything?

But there they were: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, standing together in an isolated room, not knowing what to say to each other for the first time in their lives. Several awkward moments passed at they remained standing in the same positions, shuffling their feet every so often, looking everywhere but at each other.

Then, just as Draco contemplated that leaving the Welcoming Feast might have been the stupidest thing he had ever done in his entire life, Golden Granger saved the day and broke the silence.

"Ironic," she burst out.

"What?" Draco immediately replied, grateful for the ice-breaker.

"The colours," Granger said. She smirked. Draco pretended not to notice the feeling he got in his abdomen when he saw her do that.

"What about them?" he said casually.

"What colour does mixing blue and red make?"

Draco frowned. _What the hell was this?_ Mere moments ago he thought he might have liked Granger in another universe, but here she was annoying the fuck out of him again. "What?" he repeated impatiently.

It was as if his sudden change in behaviour simply washed over her, as Granger then smiled and continued. "Purple," she said with a wave of her hand.

Draco then suddenly got it. Blue as in Ravenclaw and red as in Gryffindor had been mixed to create purple; their new houseless colour. He wanted to join Granger and smirk at the irony of it, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"But yellow and green just makes brown, Granger," Draco replied with as much scorn as he could fake. Trying to disprove her theory was as much as he was going to get out of it, as he couldn't directly prove her wrong.

"Yes, but what metallic colour is brown most similar too?" she replied, still smirking.

As Draco noticed the complimenting colour of the room, he wanted to stamp his foot in irritation. _Fucking Granger always needing to be right and prove herself better than everyone else_, he thought. Draco scowled at the floor as he replied. "Copper," he mumbled. He cringed in anticipation of what self-righteous comment the Gryffindork-turned-Ravencunt would say next.

But she did something Draco wasn't expecting at all – she laughed.

"I really do admire Professor McGonagall's sense of humour," Granger said, looking around the room with a smile.

Draco blinked. He was so not in control of this conversation. What was he there to do again? Oh yeah, Thestrals.

"You cried at the Thestrals," he said quietly. Granger's smile immediately froze on her face and Draco immediately felt like he'd said the wrong thing. "Why?" he continued, not daring to look at her.

She was silent for several moments before Draco heard a strange thump. He looked up curiously and saw that Granger had dropped herself onto the couch to their right. She was still bloody surprising him. Draco shrugged and slumped into the single high-backed chair next to him. The fireplace gave off a nice warm glow. Draco got a sudden strange urge for some hot chocolate.

"I couldn't remember the first," Granger said. She stared forward into the fire, absentmindedly playing with a tassel on the cushion next to her.

Draco remained silent. It was all becoming clearer. She hadn't cried out of fear – she had cried out of _guilt_. While he personally thought it was a stupid reason, he couldn't deny that it kind of made sense.

Granger didn't say anymore and Draco felt like he had to say something in return. That was how normal conversations worked, right? Only Granger would make him forget how to properly converse like a normal human being.

"Mine was Professor Burbage," he finally said. When he saw her face, Draco then realised that sometimes saying nothing at all was definitely better than saying anything.

"You…" she said, staring at him wide-eyed.

"The Dark Lord," he replied quickly.

Granger's face lost the look of horror and she nodded, looking away from him. Draco felt significantly better at that. They remained in comfortable silence for a few minutes, only the sound of the fire occasionally crackling filled the large room.

"So a lot of people came through the Manor then?"

Draco's head shot up.

"No, I mean… oh, that came out much more sarcastic than I meant," Granger said, looking flustered. "I just mean… is that what happened to a lot of the _missing_ people?"

Draco considered hexing her, insulting her and storming out of the room. How _dare_ she insinuate such a thing? But then again, as he unwillingly remembered some of the things that he'd seen, Draco grudgingly understood where her question came from.

"No," he replied.

"'No' to…?" Granger said questioningly.

"Both," Draco snapped.

"God, Malfoy, I'm just trying to understand," Granger snapped in return.

"Understand what?" His voice was rising and so was his temper. She just riled him up so easily.

"Your side!" Granger shouted, and stood up.

Draco stood up too. "Why on earth would you do that?" he shouted back, waving his hands.

"Because it's my side now, too!" she yelled.

Draco flinched. "You get this in your head right now, you fucking Mudblood," he spat, taking a step towards her. "We are not, and will never be on the same side."

Granger visibly swelled, and Draco tried to hide his anticipation for her retaliation. He should not have said that, but she just made him so angry. And when she brought her arm up, Draco knew he was getting punched in the face again. _It was worth it though_, he thought, as his eyes tightened – bracing for impact.

But she didn't hit him. Granger instead viciously pulled up the sleeve of her robes and thrust her forearm at him.

"Look!" she hissed. "_Look at it_!" she almost screamed.

But he didn't want to. He couldn't bear even the reminder of it. Draco knew what was there. He'd seen it happen. He'd heard her screams. He'd seen the blood.

"You think calling me that _hurts_? You think it's meant to _insult_ me? Because nothing you can _ever_ say will hurt me, Malfoy," Granger spat. Draco couldn't even look at her now. He had never heard her sound so malicious and spiteful. He definitely regretted saying it now. "_Nothing_!" she yelled.

Draco involuntary stepped away from her, but Granger followed. She was acting crazy. He thought he knew her enough by now to say that the way she was acting right now was not the usual Hermione Granger.

She then abruptly grabbed his wrist. Draco was too shocked to pull away immediately. But then her other hand went to the cuff on his arm. His _left_ arm. Draco tried to pull away from her, but Granger held him tight.

Strangely, she then carefully unbuttoned his shirt at the wrist and slowly pushed the sleeve back. Draco wanted to look away, but he couldn't. His eyes were immediately drawn to the grey image of a skull and snake on his forearm. It disgusted him. And bloody Granger was looking at it.

While maintaining a tight grip on his wrist, Granger held her own left arm parallel to his. Draco didn't look up at her as she spoke – his attention was focused on the two arms in front of him. One bearing the mark of a dead sociopath, the other bearing an uneven, crude scar of writing, done by another dead sociopath.

The scars bore from entirely different sides, yet, both were given to two unwilling teenagers who had no choice in which side they had been on by psychotic sociopaths. Instead of being amused by the irony, Draco was actually saddened by it.

"Does it define you?" Granger said surprisingly softly.

Draco continued to stare at the opposite scars. So _that_ was Granger's point. She was so fucking right, though. When put into perspective like that, everything seemed so easy. Maybe if everybody saw things like he did in that moment, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger might have just been two teenagers too similar in nature to get along. No strings.

But it wasn't. It wasn't that simple. This was the real world and the two marks on each other's forearms meant different things. Maybe different things to different people – but different nonetheless.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he understood her and agreed, but it just wasn't that simple. He opened his eyes and ripped his arm from her grip. "Look, Granger…" he started, but she spoke over him.

"Does it?" she repeated. Granger took a step closer to him and stared directly up into his eyes. Draco was dumbfounded again. What the hell was it about her presence that made him clam up? "Because Mudblood certainly doesn't define me," she continued, vaguely gesturing to her left arm. "And I sincerely doubt that a former Death Eater is all you are, either."

_Fuck_, was all Draco's mind could fathom. This trip had gotten much more intense than he had imagined. But then again, he hadn't imagined anything when he'd decided to storm up there with no prior planning.

A thought suddenly came to him. _Fuck it_, he thought, _we're this far already_. "How did you do it?" he said.

Draco saw Granger blink in surprise. "What?" she replied.

He suddenly lunged forwards and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her so harshly that she crashed into his chest with an "_Oomf!_". Draco stared directly into her eyes, and opened his mind. He was hit with an influx of images of a simple but large, white detached house with rose bushes and a rusty swing hidden in the alcove of trees at the side of the house, he saw a piano and a –

Suddenly his mind was halted by a huge grey wall slamming down over the images. Draco blinked in surprise and stepped back, stumbling slightly.

Granger was always a little more than a head shorter than Draco, but as he watched her fury grow in front of him, he could have sworn she'd grown a foot in the past minute. She wasn't a scary person, but damn was she intimidating. Draco finally understood why Weasley and Potter had always followed her so blindly. As her hair then grew to epic proportions, seemly filling with magic, Draco found himself almost in awe at this rage-filled _woman_.

"You... dare," Granger breathed. She wasn't shouting, which terrified Draco more. "You..." she pushed him and he stumbled back, but she continued to advance. Draco kept silent, but maintained an eye on her right hand – watching to see if she would draw her wand. "Absolute..." she continued in the same terrifying tone, and pushed him again. "_Wanker_!" she said in an exasperated tone.

Granger then threw herself back down onto the couch next to them and huffed. She crossed her arms then stared up at him. "What makes you think that you can just forcibly use Legilimency on someone?" she barked.

_This is a trick_, Draco told himself. _It's a rhetorical question, do not answer her. She will only get angrier with you_.

"I had to find out how strong your Occlumency was," he said. _Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid_, Draco mentally scolded himself.

Granger raised her eyebrows at him. "Why?" she said incredulously.

"You lied to Bellatrix," Draco answered without thinking. "And I wanted to know how you did it." He tried to remain casual, but internally, he was panicking. He shouldn't be talking about that again. No. Even he had nightmares about it, and he hadn't been the one being tortured. Who knew how she would react again. _She makes me say such stupid things_, Draco frowned to himself, suddenly feeling vulnerable and irate at the same time.

Granger uncrossed her arms and stared at him for a moment before replying: "And you never did." She said this as a statement, and not a question, which annoyed Draco slightly. He hated how she was always right. But even as Draco thought that, he knew that Granger understood a lot more about him that he would ever admit out loud.

"No one did," he spat in reply.

Granger sighed and continued to talk. "It was not a matter of my skill that allowed me to lie to your aunt."

Draco made a strange noise and shook his head. "Don't call her that. She was never anything more than an unfortunate blood relation."

He had met her for the first time when he was almost fourteen, when Bellatrix had come to his mother asking for a place to stay. Draco remembered being dumbfounded when Narcissa had allowed it; Bellatrix was almost everything his mother disliked in a person. She was ill-kept, dirty, ignorant to social norms and simply psychotic. He had only confronted his mother about it once and her reply had been: "She's my sister." – which had always sounded more like Narcissa convincing herself rather than trying to convince him.

They stared at each other for a moment. Granger was the first to break the silence. Again. "I kept my eyes shut," she said.

"What?" Draco said confusedly.

"I got away with lying to her by keeping my eyes shut," she said in a hushed voice.

"You..." Draco was confused for a moment. "But she can still sense–" he began in an exasperated tone.

"I know that!" Granger snapped. He was annoyed that she had interrupted him, but bit back a retort; he wanted to know what she had to say. "But she's no Voldemort. Plus, she was too hysterical to actually use it." She scoffed.

Draco frowned down at her. "But you couldn't have know that," he said, suddenly annoyed. "You took a bloody great risk doing that. Stupid, reckless, _typical_ Gryffindor! And here I was thinking you were some talented Occlumens!" Draco sharply laughed.

She stood up abruptly. Draco stiffened. _Shit_, he thought, _that was probably one of the most stupid sentences you have said in your entire life_.

"This conversation is over," she said emotionlessly.

"Wha… _excuse me_?" Draco spluttered.

But before she could reply, or he could think of a better response, a noise at the portrait hole caught his attention and he turned quickly to look.

"The feast is over," Granger said quietly. He swung his head back around to look at her and they exchanged a brief look of horror.

Everybody had seen him leave abruptly and no doubt most of the student and teacher body had also noticed that Granger was missing – and when their classmates came through that portrait hole, who knew what kind of assumptions they would make.

At least they agreed on one thing; they couldn't let that happen.

"Fuck," Draco said. Granger didn't reply, but Draco knew that she felt exactly the same as he did. Then, just as he was going to ask what they do, the portrait hole opened and several people stepped through.

Draco abruptly turned to yell "You filthy Mudblood!" at her, but he found that she was much closer than he had anticipated and the words died in his mouth. It was unoriginal, but at least people would find that more normal than them being alone together without murdering each other. A small part of him reminded him that he didn't normally care what other people thought.

"McGonagall," Granger muttered at his shoulder.

He whipped around and right she was; their headmistress was standing in the entrance area with a crowd of eighth years surrounding her. Granger had saved him from being severely berated and punished for uttering that sentence, which he was grateful for. But it screwed up the idea to cover their tracks. Draco ignored the fact that she had known exactly what he had been about to do.

The room was silent as its nineteen occupants stared each other out.

"Well," Professor McGonagall finally said, breaking the tense silence. "This is your new common room." She turned to face the large group. "The dormitories are directly behind me and your initials are above each respective door. As you are all of age, there is no official curfew, but please be reasonable. Good night." Then she left the eighteen teenagers awkwardly staring at each other.

Draco could literally feel Granger's presence next to him. They weren't quite touching, but it was as if the heat of her was touching him. It was unnerving and he wished this never-ending day would just finally fucking end.

"I'm going to bed," Granger announced to nobody in particular. She then dashed off in the direction McGonagall had mentioned, and disappeared up a spiral staircase opposite the portrait hole.

Draco saw Hufflebot emerge from the crowd and follow her. He was grateful for the distraction. The rest of the crowd then dispersed and resumed chatting and awing at their new common room.

His shoulders drooped in relief. The attention on him was gone. Draco was however mildly annoyed at Granger for throwing him to the wolves, but no doubt she'd receive the brunt of it from the Hogwarts gossip mill in the morning, which appeased him a little.

Draco sighed. It had been a long day and he now wanted nothing more than to climb into his new bed and sleep. Maybe forever. But, as luck may have it, he was stopped in his advances to the spiral staircase by another person.

"Spill," Blaise said. He was blocking the staircase, staring at Draco with his arms crossed.

Draco groaned and let his head fall back briefly. This day would literally never end. "Upstairs," he said emotionlessly.

Blaise immediately moved out of the way with a joyful skip. Draco had never seen his friend look so gleeful, and the simple movement caused Draco to gulp with dread. _Yep, this day is far from over_, he thought as he began to trudge up the spiral staircase.

* * *

**A/N**: My longer chapter to date! Yay! So what did you think? Please review!

_**Holly xo**_


	10. Chapter 10

"Cho Chang?"

"Oh, I know this! She... joined her father's international business that does... something... but she's travelling all over the world now. Last I heard she was somewhere in South America."

"Wow," whispered Hermione.

"I know," Hannah replied in the same awed tone.

The two girls were sitting cross-legged on their new beds facing each other. Between them, the large arched window gave an ignored view of the mountains in the South, now blanketed in darkness. Hannah had successfully distracted Hermione for several hours after her… _encounter_ with Malfoy downstairs.

It had been a lot easier than expected, considering the two girls' awe at their new living quarters. In their new tower, there was no more separation of girl's and boy's dormitories; at the top of the stairs was simply a circular corridor, with the rooms running along the outside and the bathrooms in the centre. Hermione was impressed with everything she had seen so far. The tower was stunning, and especially so with being completed in such a small time frame. The bedrooms were of the same calibre.

The dorms were decorated in a similar manner to the common room; dark and autumnal colours. They consisted of two four-poster beds, which Hermione had a suspicion were almost double and not single beds like they'd had previously. The bed sheets were cream and the top-throws were a rich burgundy. The more they discovered, the more Hermione found herself in love with it.

They were at the top of the South wing of the castle, alongside the Astronomy tower. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers were on the West and East wings respectively. Therefore, their view was partially some of the Forbidden Forest but mainly the white-topped mountain range which surrounded a quarter of Hogwarts. Hermione thought it was goddamn beautiful.

They'd settled in and chatted, finally coming onto the topic of their old classmates and what had happened to the ones which hadn't returned to school. Hannah seemed to know a lot more about them than Hermione did, and they had unintentionally created some kind of game.

"Theo Nott!" Hannah suddenly exclaimed.

"In hiding, last I heard," Hermione said with a shrug. "No idea why – it wasn't like he was the Death Eater in the family."

Hannah shrugged, too. "Maybe he just left the country, sick of everything, I guess. Like Marietta did. Couldn't cope with all the memories and probably the prejudice because of what his father did. I mean, he is all alone now."

Hermione bit her lip. "Maybe," she said. Giving Nott the benefit of the doubt was all she could offer, since she couldn't bring herself to think positive things about the boy. He had never actually done anything wrong as far as she could tell, but there had always been something so fundamentally creepy about him that she didn't trust.

"Goyle?" Hannah asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Fled to the Far East, I think," Hermione responded.

"Russia, actually," a new voice said from the doorway. "But close enough, Granger. Didn't _flee_ though. Had to take over his father's business, since, you know, he died and all. So… not really close at all then."

Both Hannah and Hermione whipped their heads up at the sound of the intruder; Blaise Zabini was standing in the threshold, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. Hermione narrowed her eyes; he looked too smug to not be up to something. Her opinion of this particular Slytherin had never quite been defined. There had certainly been moments where Hermione had been completely sure that he was a prat – but then again, there was an aura around him that didn't quite match the rest of the Slytherins. But that didn't matter anyway – she was well past using Houses as defining characteristics.

"Knew I should have shut the door behind me," Hannah muttered.

"Your game sounds interesting," he stated.

"If you feel like you could add anything to it, _please_, by all means, join us," Hermione quipped sarcastically.

"That's very kind of you," Zabini replied, and entered the room.

Hermione blinked incredulously at his forward behaviour and shared a glance with Hannah to confirm that at least she had understood the sarcasm in her statement. Hannah's raised eyebrows suggested clearly to Hermione that she too was surprised at the Slytherin's behaviour.

"I only heard past Chang, so catch me up on who you've done so far," he continued, making himself comfortable on the end of Hannah's bed. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles.

The two girls shared another bemused glance, but after Hermione frowned and shook her head, Hannah shrugged. She turned to the strange boy at the end of her bed.

"We hadn't actually done very many. Before Cho it was just Marietta, who's moved to Italy; Harry and Ron, who are training to be Aurors; Isobel, who's doing her NEWTS at Beauxbatons; and Susan, who got a job at the Ministry, which we agreed was entirely unjust because she got in on her name alone."

Zabini smiled and shook his head slowly. "Not bad, but you only have the facts – not the _information_."

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned indignantly. She fought the urge to cross her arms.

Instead of replying, Zabini simply pulled a large bottle from the inside of his black, collarless blazer. He held it up lazily. "If you're going to gossip, Granger," he said with a smirk. "May as well do it properly."

"Oh, an 1864!" Hannah exclaimed, and reached her hand out for the dark, glass bottle. Surprisingly, Zabini handed it to her. Hermione glared at them both as they began to converse about whatever good kind of alcohol was in the bottle – at least that much Hermione had deducted for herself.

Who would have guessed Hannah was some kind of connoisseur? Zabini, sure – he looked pompous enough to carry it off. But seeing her new friend chat enthusiastically about something Hermione would have simply identified as 'alcohol', embarrassed her a little. It was unusual for Hermione not to know at least something about a thing. She pouted in disapproval.

Hermione's cheeks began to flush, however, as Zabini met her gaze for a brief moment – without breaking conversation with Hannah – she suddenly realised that this was his exact intention. _But why?_ Hermione frowned. It may have been the shedding of the House allegiance or the experiences she had gained over the past year, but Hermione knew then that she could be just as Slytherin as the slimiest snakes in there.

Her attention was caught again by a popping sound. Hannah clapped as Zabini magicked the cork from the bottle with a wide grin. This was Hermione's chance. With a swift wave of her wand, three rounded glasses, similar to what her parents drank whiskey out of on special occasions, appeared in front of her.

"If we're going to drink, may as well do it properly," she said, staring directly at Zabini as she did so.

Zabini simply responded with a quirk of one eyebrow and plucked a glass out of the air. He rolled it over in his hand and examined it for a moment. "Edinburgh Crystal," he said. "Classy."

Hermione was grateful he wasn't looking at her, because she was having difficulty hiding the smirk on her face. Thank goodness she hadn't got the type of drinking glass wrong, because that would have been humiliating to say the least. She plucked the closest glass to her out of the air, as did Hannah.

Zabini poured a generous amount into each glass, his own last – and lazily lifted it. "To the destruction of the Dark Lord!" he said. "Oh, and Macmillan's new haircut!" he added with a soft laugh.

Hannah laughed and Hermione rolled her eyes with a reluctant smile. Ernie's new haircut certainly was much better than the famous joked-upon pompous curls he'd had for the past seven years. The three clinked glasses. Hermione sniffed it before knocking the whole thing back. She had anticipated the strength and burn so much so that when it had come to it, the alcohol wasn't actually anything as bad as she had expected.

"Smooth," she muttered, looking at the empty glass.

"It should be," Zabini said. "When it costs fifty Galleons."

_Fifty Galleons?_ Hermione thought incredulously. She looked back down at her glass. _Doesn't taste like fifty Galleons_. Although, she would never admit aloud that it was still very good.

Zabini reached over to refill her glass. "Maybe slower next time?" he said with a smirk.

Hermione looked up to see that Hannah and Zabini had only taken small sips from their own glasses. Hannah was biting her lip trying not to laugh. Hermione glowered at her before taking another sip from her own.

"It's very nice, thank you Zabini."

"No problem, Granger."

Hannah shuffled around so that she was now facing both Hermione and Zabini. "Okay, so, the gossipy information now please," she said, and took another sip.

Zabini smirked slowly at the two girls.

…

Hermione snorted, and Hannah giggled even harder. Hermione was too tipsy to care, and was rather enjoying this glimpse into the world of a Slytherin.

"No way…" she started with a wave and slosh of her glass, "did Marietta try to put a voodoo curse on me." She laughed harder and took another sip of the amber liquid.

"She did," Zabini replied, with a chuckle. "But obviously that did not work."

"Obviously," Hermione said with another snort. She laughed.

"Oh!" Hannah exclaimed, gaining everyone's attention. She held up the bottle. "Looks like we're out."

"Not a problem," Zabini said, opening his blazer.

"Do not tell me you have another bottle in there," Hermione said incredulously.

He smirked. "Okay, I won't."

"You know how to cast an Extendable/Lightweight Charm hybrid?" Hermione asked curiously.

"No," he replied, "But my tailor does."

"Of course," Hermione replied with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "I'll bet Malfoy's the same."

"Yes," he replied simply.

Hermione immediately felt uncomfortable at the mention of his name, and now Zabini was staring at her. His expression was blank, but Hermione felt like it was a pointed look. _What does he know?_ she thought in a panic. _What is there to know? You haven't done anything! But then why does it feel like I have?_ She continued to argue with herself silently.

"If you'll excuse me," Hannah suddenly interrupted with a hiccup. "I have somewhere to be."

Zabini raised an eyebrow at her. "And where might that be?"

"Sleep," she mumbled, before slipping sideways onto her pillow and immediately falling asleep.

Hermione stared at her for several moments before looking up to see that Zabini was doing the same thing. "Well, that's that then," she said.

"What's what?"

"I don't know," Hermione said with a frown and a giggle. Obviously, she was more affected by the alcohol than she had previously thought.

"Tell me, Granger," he said, leaning forward. "What is it with you and Draco?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione reeled back in surprise. So _this_ was his angle? Slytherins continued to baffle her. "I think you're mistaken."

"You two hate each other… but you don't."

"Well, we certainly don't _like_ each other if that's what you're asking."

Zabini laughed, which caught Hermione off guard. She blinked at him. He certainly had nice teeth, she noticed. Still with a smile on his face, Zabini leaned over and refilled her glass again. Hermione didn't take a drink this time.

"Why are you so curious?" she asked.

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. Hermione wanted to kick herself. That response made it sound like it had connotations, when there certainly weren't any. Her cheeks were flush, and this time it wasn't because of the alcohol.

"Let's not beat around the bush, Granger. That's twice you two have been found alone together, just by me." At Hermione's huff of indignation at his implication, he raised his hands. "Talking," he added. "Now don't tell me that's not the weirdest shit you've heard since Longbottom becoming a hero."

Hermione ignored his dig at Neville and leaned forward. "Are you insinuating that there may be a secret affair between myself and Malfoy?"

Zabini remained silent.

"I thought you were smarter than that, Zabini," she sneered, sitting back. "Do I look like the kind of person who would demean myself to '_sneak around with_' someone who thinks '_my kind_' is a disease and should be exterminated? Or someone who has ridiculed both me and my friends for almost a decade?" Hermione was fighting to keep her voice down, and it came out instead as a hiss. She was angry. How _dare_ he think of her that way.

"I don't know Granger, are you?" he said challengingly.

"I won't even dignify that with an answer," she scoffed. "But tell me this, Zabini. Even if I was one of those shallow girls who would do anything to get into bed with Malfoy," she shuddered, "would I _ever_, or you for that matter, want to be with someone who stood idly by while you were almost tortured to death? Huh, Zabini? Do you think I would be up for that even if I ignored the blood supremacist element?"

Zabini's blank face slid for a brief second. "Hypothetically?" he asked cautiously.

"What do you think?" Hermione spat.

They sat in silence for a few moments, with only the sound of Hannah's heavy breathing to distract them. Hermione was surprised at how Zabini obviously hadn't known about her visit to Malfoy Manor. But then, again, how was he to? It's unlikely that Malfoy would ever have mentioned to him, if at all to anyone.

"Can I ask…" he said, lifting his head. "Who?"

Hermione's eyes tightened. "Bellatrix," she stated. She didn't particularly want to talk about it either.

Zabini nodded in response as if something suddenly made sense. "I'm sorry," he said.

"She's dead now." Hermione shrugged as if it was no big deal – but it really wasn't.

"Not to speak ill of the dead… but I'm rather glad… too."

They smiled wryly at each other. Hermione downed her drink.

"What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject.

Zabini pulled a grandiose pocket-watch out of his trouser pocket. "Half one," he said with a tone of surprise.

"I'm surprised he hasn't come looking for you." The fact that Hermione didn't need to even say his name for Zabini to understand seemed to be the catalyst to their pseudo friendship. Something told her that he was being genuine, and that despite having an agenda on arrival, he had enjoyed the strange evening.

Zabini laughed. "Really? You think he'd do that?"

Hermione laughed in response. "You're right. I bet he's over there snoring away without a care in the world."

"Something like that," Zabini said with a smile. "I'd better go, regardless." He stood and stretched. Hermione couldn't help but appreciate his torso as he did so. Now that they didn't hate each other she was allowed to do things like that now, right?

"Yes, you really should," she said abruptly, also standing up. Her knees popped; they really had been sitting down for a long time. "Here, let me take that." Hermione reached for the glass in his hand. She was proud of what she had conjured up – people couldn't always get glass on the first try – therefore there was no way he was leaving the room with it.

Zabini handed it to her. "Here," he held out the second bottle of brandy (as she'd learned what it was). "I think you'll need this more than me." He placed it in the crook of her elbow, as her hands were holding the two glasses.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. Hermione wasn't a drinker and she knew she wouldn't ever be, but that certain brandy was certainly something she could stick to.

They both made their way to the door and stopped at the threshold.

"So…" Hermione said. "Friends?"

Zabini rolled his eyes at her. "You Gryffindors and your need to label things. But sure, _Hermione_, friends." He smirked.

"We're houseless now, _Blaise_," Hermione barely grimaced at the reminder of her House change.

"See you at the ball tomorrow," he said with a wink, and left.

Hermione shut the door with her foot behind him, taking care not to slam it and disturb Hannah. _The ball_. She'd almost entirely forgotten about that. And what came after. She sighed and gently placed the two glasses and three quarter full bottle of brandy on her dresser. It should have been a beautiful event to look forward to, but Hermione really just was not feeling it. Ginny had helped her pick out a dress a few weeks ago, and at the time she had been excited to wear it and now she couldn't help but want anything less than to spend hours with lots of people all dressed up. She pulled a blanket over Hannah and sighed again.

_Although, on a positive note_, she thought as she climbed into her four poster after getting ready for bed – _at least I'll get to see Ron and Harry_. She waved her wand and the all of the candles in the room extinguished. Hermione quickly fell asleep, with a smile on her face.

...

Draco couldn't sleep. He wasn't surprised, but it never failed to irritate him each night. He had gone to bed rather early, after giving Blaise a vague description of what he and Granger had... spoken (argued?) about downstairs. But like hell was he going to go over it and analyse what had happened. Draco was in a state of denial, and was going to ignore it from then on.

It wasn't until the room door had slammed at twenty to two that Draco realised that Blaise had been out. The room was dark, but Draco could see Blaise jump when he spoke. "Where were you?" he said, sitting up on his elbow. He rarely shut his hangings anymore.

"Drinking," Blaise replied as he began to rifle through his dresser (an upgrade that Draco heavily approved of, instead of simply using one's trunk all year).

"With who?" Draco almost scoffed. It was no secret that they were unpopular with the rest of their eighth year peers.

There was a tight silence before he answered. "Granger," Blaise said emotionlessly.

"What th-" Draco began, but Blaise had already left for the bathroom.

What was Zabini playing at? But more importantly what was _she _playing at? Granger didn't stay up until the early hours _drinking with Slytherins_. Everybody knew that. It was like knowing the Earth was round. Therefore, Blaise must have been teasing him about what had happened earlier. But that made it even less funny to Draco – how _dare_ he joke about him like that.

Draco whipped back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. The conversation they were going to have when Blaise returned was not one he should conduct from his bed. Draco stood up and began to pace the length of the space between their beds. His silk pyjamas swishing against his legs as he did so.

Blaise returned a few minutes later, closing the door softly behind him this time. Draco halted his pacing and glared at Blaise. "You were fucking kidding right?" he hissed. His wand was on his bedside table, directly behind his right hand – easy to grab.

A tense silence followed, and Blaise threw his clothes on his bed. "I went to find out what her game was," he finally said.

"Her..." Draco spluttered. So they _had_ been together for all those hours. Annoyance aside, he also wanted to find out if Blaise had in fact discovered her 'game'. "But you drank together!" he burst out. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

Draco couldn't fathom the idea of Saint Hermione Granger allowing a Slytherin boy into her room late at night to get drunk with him. It didn't make any sense. _But then again, she always has surprised you_, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He ignored it.

"Do you know how ridiculous _you_ sound?"

"_Excuse me_?"

Draco could see Blaise tense at his tone. This was almost one step too far.

"You sound like a crazy jealous boyfriend," Blaise said. "Which is especially interesting since when I asked Granger about you two, she said '_why are you so curious_'? Now don't tell me that doesn't imply connotations. You two are hiding something."

Draco barely stopped his mouth from falling open. Blaise thought they were having _a secret affair_? What an utterly incredulous notion. But just as he was about to vigorously dissuade that claim, he realised that they were indeed hiding something together; the Founders secret.

"Shit," he said aloud. Of course he could lie, but Blaise was a smart and typical Slytherin who knew all about lying and would see through him immediately. What the hell was he going to say?

"So you _are_... together?" Blaise asked, gobsmacked. "I thought it was just the Bellatrix thing."

"What?" Draco snapped. He was angry that this was being brought up, but at least he now had a chance for an out. "How do you know about that?" He spat. "And _no_, we most certainly are not... together." Draco barely repressed a shudder.

"We spoke about it."

"She... she..." Draco was shaking with anger. "She _told_ you about it? What are you...'_best buddies_' now?" he sneered.

"Hermione is a lovely lady."

"How did it come up?" Draco demanded, ignoring Blaise's last statement.

Blaise shrugged. "When I implied that there was something between you two, she informed me that she would never be with someone who believed in Mudbloods, or someone who watched her being tortured and did nothing."

Draco felt like he had been punched in the gut and all the air had been stolen from his lungs. She thought _that_ of him? While it hurt, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised – he'd always done shitty things to her. And then, when the time had come to do something right, he hadn't.

He felt uncomfortable. Several tense moments in the room passed before Draco remembered that Blaise was also there. His presence angered him. How _dare_ they sit drinking and gossiping about him like best friends. They barely know each other! How _dare_ they judge him like that. They barely know _him_! Draco growled as his anger grew in the darkness of the room.

"Draco..." Blaise began cautiously.

Draco whipped his head around to him. "What?"

Blaise blinked at his hostility. "Don't do anything rash..."

Draco laughed coldly and grabbed his wand. "You and your advice can fuck off back to your new best friend, _Granger_." He strode over to the door and threw it open.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Blaise called after him.

Draco ignored him as he strode down the corridor to Room 4.

_How dare he._

_How dare she._

_How dare they. _

He pounded his fist on the dark wooden door several times.

...

Hermione jolted awake to a loud thudding sound. Wand aloft, she jumped out of bed and looked around the room; there was nothing. Hannah was still asleep. The thudding repeated, and she jumped. This time, Hannah stirred.

"Is it morning?" she mumbled through the darkness.

"No," Hermione replied with a frown.

The noise was coming from the door. Who the hell would be banging on their door in the middle of the night? Hermione flicked her wand and several of the candles in the room lit. Hannah groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket back over her head.

Hermione strode to the door, not caring that she was only wearing a tank top and cotton trousers. She threw it open, ready to chastise whoever thought it was funny to disturb people while they slept. However, before Hermione could even open her mouth, someone grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into her dresser next to the door.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

Hermione flinched, and saw who the rude-middle-of-the-night-visitor was. "Malfoy, what..." she choked out.

"How _dare_ you!"

"_Excuse me_?" Hermione attempted to shout. She tried to wriggle out of his grip to move her wand, but he had essentially trapped her with his body and she couldn't move. Hermione ignored the fact that she could feel the heat of his body through his thin pyjamas and that she now knew that he smelled like musk and citrus.

"What's going on?" Hannah suddenly interjected.

"Hannah, get out," Hermione said calmly, without looking at her. Her eyes were locked onto Malfoy's. The fury she saw was almost intimidating. Almost.

"But, Hermione, I..."

"GET OUT!" Hermione and Malfoy yelled simultaneously.

Hannah scampered out the door, leaving it wide open behind her.

As Malfoy had turned to shout at Hannah, Hermione used the opportunity to wedge out her wand and silently cast a Stinging Hex at his thigh. She was angry, _furious_, but she didn't want to stun him; Hermione wanted to understand what the hell this was all about.

With a cry of pain, he dropped her neck and stumbled back a little, but he quickly recovered and lunged back at her almost immediately. Hermione reached behind her in desperation and grabbed one of the glasses. She swung it around as hard as she could and hit Malfoy on the side of the head. The glass smashed and he fell to the floor, still conscious but dazed.

"What is this?" Hermione yelled at him. "What are you doing here?" Her hand was bleeding almost as much as Malfoy's head was, but she ignored it.

Malfoy blinked a few times before looking up at her with a sneer on his face. "You and Zabini. Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me?" He began to slowly pull himself up off the ground.

Hermione snorted. "You're this angry because we were _talking_ about you?"

Malfoy stood with his wand out. "I couldn't give a shit if you like talking about me, but you do _not _have the right to judge me."

"Oh, what, because I'm a stupid little Mudblood, is it?"

"It's not about that!" Malfoy screeched.

"Well what is it about then?" Hermione shouted in response. "Because I think I have every right to judge you, you coward!"

"Don't call me that!" Malfoy yelled and shot a hex at her.

Hermione easily deflected it. "But you are, though, aren't you?" she taunted. "You couldn't kill Dumbledore and you hated him. He was defenceless and you _hated_ him, so why couldn't you do it, _you coward_?"

Malfoy's choice of reply was sending a Slicing Hex at her. Hermione deflected it, but it rebounded off one of the glasses on the dresser and brushed her arm. She hissed as she took a look at the weeping cut across her forearm.

_So this is how he's going to play?_ Hermione thought maliciously. She met his furious gaze head on and smirked. Then, with a series of complicated wand movements, the onslaught began.

...

Hannah didn't know what to do. She was standing in the corridor, biting her nails, watching the drama unfold in her bedroom. _Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god_, she thought, _they're going to kill each other!_ Then, as if to emphasise her thoughts, a feral scream and procession of smashing sounds followed from inside the room.

"What's happening?" a voice from down the hall suddenly exclaimed. Hannah glanced to her right; Zabini was running barefoot and shirtless round the corridor. He came to a screeching halt next to her and recoiled from the sight he saw.

"We have to stop them!"

"We shouldn't get in the middle of that."

"We should if they're going to kill each other! You know how much Dark magic they both know!"

"And that's exactly why they won't use it."

Hannah and Blaise stared each other down for a few moments, before he sighed. "You're right," he said with a wary glance at the room with the flashing lights. "But that doesn't mean they won't do something serious by accident."

"That's why we're here," Hannah replied. "I think this was inevitable. We should just let them... hash it out."

Blaise narrowing his eyes. "So we... watch?"

Hannah nodded. "And make sure they don't-"

A shout interrupted her. "SAY THAT AGAIN, I DARE YOU."

Hannah and Blaise shared a look and moved closer to the door.

"I only had to say it once for it to make an impact, Malfoy," they heard Hermione say. "What do you think Lucius would say to his son being unable to take a Mudblood?"

"Stop it!" Malfoy shouted in response. "I told you it wasn't about that!"

"Well, that's hard to believe," Hermione laughed coldly. "It always is with you people."

"What did I say about judging me, Granger?" Malfoy growled. He raised his wand.

"I don't know, Malfoy, let's ask my scar."

Then, as she lifted her left forearm into the light, Hannah gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Blaise flinched beside her. "Bellatrix," he hissed.

Hannah whipped her head around to look at him, but before she could ask, another voice jumped in.

"Bellatrix did that?" Neville asked in a low voice.

Hannah turned around to see that a small crowd had silently gathered in the corridor without her noticing. Every person had variations of shock written all over their faces.

"Bellatrix tortured Hermione while Draco watched," Blaise said quickly as he watched the two in question fire more dangerous spells at each other.

"That bastard!" Neville exclaimed quietly.

Blaise tore his gaze away from Hermione and Malfoy and looked at the crowd. "No one interrupts, no one gets a teacher, okay?"

Everybody nodded solemnly.

"Why are they doing that?" Ernie whispered loudly somewhere from the back.

Hannah opened her mouth to reply but Blaise spoke over her. "Later," he hissed.

"Dammit, Granger! Stop shoving that thing in my face!"

"You don't like my scar? Let's take a look at yours, then!"

Hannah gasped again as Hermione leapt at Malfoy and began to tug at his long sleeves. They both fell to the floor with a thud.

"Get off me you crazy bitch!" Malfoy yelled as he tried to bat Hermione away.

"Give me a reason not to judge you, Malfoy! Give me _one_ reason why I shouldn't think these things of you!"

Hannah was glad that she wasn't squeamish about blood, because, the way that the two were scrabbling on the floor, she couldn't tell where Hermione's blood ended and Malfoy's began.

"_Evanesco_!" Hermione suddenly shouted, and Malfoy's shirt disappeared.

Hermione sat up, but failed to notice that she was straddling a bare-chested Malfoy. "Ha!" she exclaimed.

"_Everte Statum_!" Malfoy yelled, and Hermione flew backwards into the wall with an "_oomph!"_

As Hermione climbed back to her feet breathlessly, Hannah's gaze was drawn to the only darkness on the otherwise pale expanse of Malfoy. She involuntarily took a step back. _He had the Dark Mark_. She had known he was... but it was entirely different _seeing_ it for herself.

"_Defodio!_" Hermione retaliated. Malfoy ducked and rolled on the floor and the spell hit Hermione's bed instead, blowing apart one of the posts.

"_Engorgio Skullus!_"

Hermione obviously hadn't expected Malfoy to cast a spell while on the floor and it hit her directly. She dropped to the floor, grasping her head. She began to scream. Hannah started forward, but Blaise grabbed her wrist.

"_Finite!_" Hermione shrieked, and she began to breathe heavily, still crouched on the floor as the spell wore off.

There was a deathly silence both inside and out the room. The rest of the eighth years were holding their breath, in both fear and anticipation. What were these two _doing_?

"You never knew..." Hermione began quietly. She lifted her head, and she was smiling. "You never knew that Dumbledore planned his death, did you?"

Malfoy scrambled to his feet with his wand pointed at her. "You're lying," he sneered.

"Am I though?" Hermione began to slowly climb to her feet. "You saw his hand. You know what kind of Dark magic caused that. It should have killed him immediately, right?"

Malfoy silently glowered at her.

"But luckily, Professor Dumbledore had Snape to contain the curse for him. Allowing for more _time_."

"So what," Malfoy shrugged. "Snape saved him, big deal."

"But he didn't," Hermione smirked. "Dumbledore was still dying and he knew about your little task from the very beginning. Snape was a spy, but you knew that didn't you? You were there when Harry faced Voldemort for the final time, so you know all about that. Your precious godfather was in love with a Mudblood for all those years. How does that make you feel, Malfoy?"

"I told you, Granger, _it's not about that_," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. "You think you can hurt me with your words? Mean, doesn't look good on you, Granger. You know how much better I can do it." He smirked and Hermione frowned. "You think I didn't notice your new teeth? You're welcome, by the way."

Hermione snarled and sent a curse at him. He deflected it, but staggered back a few steps from the force. It surprised him, which made him angrier.

"Still wasting your time looking for your parents?" Malfoy said scathingly.

Hermione froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think?" he spat.

"What do you know?" she screamed, advancing on him. "_Flippendo!_" he flew backwards onto the floor. Hermione walked over and stood over him, wand pointed at his chest. "Tell me!" she screamed.

Malfoy smirked. "You know that they would have found them by now if there was anything _to_ find."

"You're lying!" she shrieked.

"Am I, Granger? If I was, how would I know that they were in Australia? That they took your ugly cat with them?"

"Tell me what you know! _Cruc_-" Hermione froze and clapped her hands over her mouth. Her wand clattered to the floor. Malfoy gazed up at her in shock.

If there had been a deathly silence before, it was nothing compared to what followed Hermione's almost-curse.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

This time, it was Blaise who started forward and Hannah grabbed his wrist. He turned to glare at her, but she just shook her head, with glistening eyes. They weren't going to hurt each other anymore; intervention was no longer necessary.

Hermione fell to her knees next to Malfoy, who was still frozen in shock, and began to sob. "Malfoy..." she said thickly. She touched his arm, and he flinched, as if that had broke him from his stupor. Hermione cried harder at his rejection. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, please..."

He simply rolled away from her and sat up, his bare back leaning against the bed. He still looked like he didn't know what to do. Malfoy stared into space while Hermione sobbed next to him. Hannah wanted to run in and hug them both, but she was frozen to the spot. It seemed like everybody else in the corridor felt the same, as nobody moved an inch.

Hermione suddenly wailed and collapsed onto the floor. This seemed to snap Malfoy out of it, as he turned sharply to look at her and frowned. "Granger, don't do that," he barked. "Get up!"

She didn't move, and just continued to cry among the debris of their duel. Malfoy sighed and shuffled closer to her. "Granger, get up." He pulled at her elbow. "Dammit, Granger, UP!"

Hermione relaxed and allowed him to pull her up. "Now, for god's sake..." Malfoy began, but Hermione cut him off by dropping her head onto his shoulder and continuing to cry. He became stock-still, barely looking like he was breathing at all.

"Malfoy, I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't... I didn't mean it..." she hiccupped.

Malfoy took a deep breath and glared down at her. A few seconds passed, but then, to everyone's silent surprise, he reluctantly put his arm around her shoulders. "Fuck me... but believe me, Granger... I know," he said quietly.

Hermione moved closer to him and simply continued to cry onto his chest.

Hannah jerked her gaze away and nudged Blaise. "Let's go," she mouthed. He nodded. They both turned and walked down the corridor, and the crowd seemed to follow their lead and dispersed. Nobody seemed to want to talk to one another, and there was a feel of depression about the air.

"You can sleep in my room, if you want," Blaise said, when they'd reached the door of Room 1. Hannah raised her eyebrows. "Oh you know what I mean," he said with a wave of his hand and a small smile.

"I know," she replied with a smile. "But I think I'll just go down to the common room. I should be alone for a while."

"I understand. But, if you change your mind, the offer still stands."

"Thank you," Hannah said. "Goodnight, Blaise."

"Goodnight."

Blaise closed the door behind him, and Hannah was left in the dark corridor alone. She took a shaky breath and made her way downstairs. There was still one fire burning, so Hannah made her way to sit near it. She dropped herself down onto a couch, and stared into the burning embers for a few moments.

"Shit," Hannah said aloud to herself, before bursting into tears.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh god, angsty right? This is almost double the length of my usual chapters, but I just really wanted to get all of this stage done. Therefore, from now it'll be focused on the Founders. Next chapter: The Ball and the aftermath! Ha!

Please review!

_**Holly - xo**_


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione woke slowly and groggily. She was vaguely aware of something obscuring her eyesight, but it wasn't until she heard a shout from her left that she became alert.

"Oh for god's sake, Malfoy – stop complaining!"

"Maybe I will… when you stop causing me even more pain, Davis!"

Hermione turned her head to look at the commotion; Malfoy was lying shirtless and on his front, sprawled over Hannah's bed. Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. Tracey Davis was standing over him, waving her wand slowly across his skin.

"What did you expect?" Davis asked scathingly, her long dark hair falling over her face as she worked. "Pain potion? A pretty Medinurse to give you a sponge bath? This isn't the damn infirmary, so I'm all you've got up here, Malfoy; basic healing and guaranteed no questions asked. I don't even think I want to know what went on in here last night anyway." She flipped her hair away from her face with her forearm and strode away from him. "You're done."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Tracey's tone, but found that her forehead felt tight. She raised her hands to her head and found that a bandage was wrapped around it, partially covering her eyes.

"Don't touch that! Don't move!" Davis suddenly barked at her, and Hermione froze immediately. She didn't know Tracey all that well, but Hermione now understood that she wasn't someone to tell what to do. "You have a serious concussion and shouldn't move. At all." Davis was suddenly at her bedside, removing her curious hands from her head and tucking Hermione in some more.

Hermione was speechless. She couldn't remember getting into bed. Why was Tracey Davis there? She dared to move her head slowly to face Malfoy. But when she met his gaze, any words she could have said immediately died in her throat. Hermione's mouth gaped open and closed a few times, and he simply continued to stare blankly at her from his languid position. She felt like she couldn't breathe, but Hermione could feel that Malfoy didn't know what to say either.

"I'd listen to her, if I were you."

Hermione tore her eyes away from Malfoy's, ignoring the fact that she now knew his eyes were an icy blue. _But they look grey in the light_, she thought absentmindedly, as she spotted Blaise standing in the doorway. It was so similar to the way he had appeared the previous night that Hermione had to refrain from smirking in irony at how different things now were.

She smiled at him and he inclined his head in return. But before Hermione could speak, Malfoy yelled out in pain; he'd also tried to see who had appeared in the room, but had instead reopened some of the wounds in his back in the process.

"Oh for fuck's sake – _Malfoy_!" Davis yelled, and Hermione flinched. As she was coming fully to, the ache in her head was becoming more prominent.

"Just hurry up and heal me, so I can get the hell out of here!" Malfoy hissed in return.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere."

"What?" Hermione and Malfoy cried together. They shared a brief, half-hearted glare.

"Both of you are too injured to go anywhere for a while yet," Davis said calmly, as she prodded and poked at Malfoy's shoulder blades. "Ideally, you'd be resting for a day or two, but the ball is tonight, and I have a feeling that your missing of that would be noticed, so that's clearly not an option."

"So we have to stay in here all day?" Hermione asked incredulously. She was masking her panic quite well, if she thought so herself. _Alone... in her bedroom... with Malfoy... all day_? They had barely managed being in the same building together yesterday without trying to tear each other apart, so how the hell were they to manage the whole day? And _then_, go to the damned ball and pretend like everything was normal? Hermione's headache was suddenly getting a lot worse.

"I can at least go back to my own room, right?" Malfoy asked in a panicked tone. He tried to move away, but Tracey pushed him back down with a firm hand.

"I'm not going to risk moving you like this, or do you _want_ to be permanently scarred?" Malfoy said nothing, but huffed at her stern tone. "I thought so," Tracey continued. "I'm pretty much done here and I honestly can't stand the tension in this room anymore, so I'm going to leave you to it. Neither of you dare to move or exert yourselves or whatever else you might feel the urge to do. I'll be up again around three to make sure nobody's dead."

"Thanks, Tracey," Blaise said as she swept past him.

"Here's a little sleep potion if they act up. Good luck." Tracey shut the door behind her, leaving the three remaining eighth years in a terribly awkward silence.

"I'll take that potion now," Hermione finally choked out.

Blaise ignored her. He walked through the room as if she hadn't spoken. With each step, the sound of crunching debris rang in Hermione's ears. Was he doing it on purpose? If so, what was his point? She was too tired to play games. _But I suppose that's my own fault_, Hermione thought weakly.

"This looks a lot worse in the daylight," Blaise stated from the foot of Hermione's bed. He then attempted to lean against one of the posts, but stumbled as it fell away from him. Giving Hermione a glare, as if it was her fault for his momentary loss of posture, Blaise stalked back over to the door. The splintered wooden pole clattered to the floor and the awning above Hermione drooped, dropping a small cloud of dust over the foot of her bed.

"I'm not cleaning a single bit of this, so you better hurry up and get better because I have a feeling that everyone will cover for you two only so much." He opened his blazer and pulled out several objects, enlarging one of them and placed them all on the dresser; conveniently the furthest away from Hermione and Malfoy. "Here's your wands, the sleep potion and a bag of your things I put together, Draco. If either of you aren't there tonight, I'm not going to be responsible for the consequences. You've got shit to sort out, that _doesn't_ involve almost killing each other."

Blaise slammed the door behind him. The last piece of Hannah's wall mirror fell and crashed to the floor. Hermione and Malfoy both flinched at the sound.

Hermione shut her eyes; she wanted to melt into the mattress and never come out. _I don't want to be here!_ she thought frustratingly. She felt like she'd never been so humiliated in her life, or regretted something so much. Cringing at the thought of apologising to Malfoy, Hermione sighed aloud.

"Malfoy..." she started, but he spoke over her.

"Don't even try it, Granger. We're well past _sorry's_ now, don't you think?" He was facing her, and despite his relaxed position Hermione knew that he wasn't calm. "Both ways," he added hastily.

Hermione could barely stand to hold his intense gaze, but she knew she had to; he had a point. "You might be right," Hermione replied. "But we still need to talk about it."

"Am I fuck having a heart-to-heart with you."

"I don't want that," Hermione shot back. She could feel her temper rising, but the throbbing in her head forced her to calm down. "I just want to know what you know about my parents."

"Only if you tell me what you know," Malfoy responded immediately.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Fine," she said. Then she motioned with her hand for him to begin talking. Hermione's patience was running low, and she felt terribly tired. Ideally, she'd have this conversation another day but it unfortunately didn't look like she'd get another chance.

"That was all I knew," Malfoy said after a moment. "I'd overheard Weasley talk to Potter about it last week. She seemed to think that's what the meeting was about."

Hermione blinked at him for several moments. He must have been in real pain to give up what he knew so quickly, never-mind first. She sighed. "You know... I'm glad to know that they weren't found by... well, you know... but I'm also sad to know that nobody knows any more than I do."

They were both silent for a few moments before Malfoy spoke again. "How can you _lose _your parents, anyway?" he said.

In any other circumstance, Hermione would have been insulted at his scathing tone, but now she understood it to be his way of asking 'what happened', without looking like he cared. God forbid a Malfoy to seem to care about something.

"I cast a memory charm on my parents and sent them to live in Australia, with new names and identities in order to protect them while I was on the run, effectively removing them from my life."

"You... you obliviated yourself from their entire life? Their daughter? They don't know who you are?" Malfoy looked like he'd just swallowed something awful.

"Yes," Hermione snapped. "And it worked rather well, don't you think?" Another momentary silence passed between them. "So, what would you like to know?" Hermione broke the silence with a change of subject.

"So you believe me, then?" Malfoy said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Out of all of the things we've done to each other," she said slowly. "Have we ever lied to one another?"

Strangely, Hermione knew she could always count on Malfoy to tell the truth. Sure, it may have been the meaner version or a skewed exaggeration, but at least he had always been honest. And she was banking on that still being the case.

Hermione could see the frustration on his face as he tried to think of an instance where they hadn't actually been truthful with each other. She smirked at his efforts.

"So, what do you want to know?" she repeated.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes before speaking. "I have a feeling that I know a lot less than I thought I did, so you tell me."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose I better start with Godric's Hollow..."

...

Malfoy closed his eyes at some point, but Hermione knew that he had continued to listen to her story. It had become more of a monologue of Hermione talking to herself by the end, but it was the full story nonetheless. Hermione spoke about every Horcrux; how it was made and how it was destroyed. She explained how the Hallows existed and how they tied in, and how Harry fit into the equation. She even mentioned Dumbledore's history – the _true_ one. Some parts Hermione knew that Malfoy already understood or was there for, but she retold them anyway.

"You know..." Malfoy said, after Hermione had been silent for a while. "Even although Dumbledore was on the good side... he still followed that motto for all those years."

"What?" Hermione said, distracted by trying to wipe away her tears. It had been difficult bringing a lot of it back, but it felt good to have put it all into the one form. Maybe she'd write it down one day.

"'_For the greater good'_" Malfoy muttered mockingly, as he glared down at the floor between their beds.

Hermione stared open-mouthed at him, digesting what he had said. "I... I just realised I have some dittany in my bag," she said abruptly.

Malfoy's eyes shot up. "What?"

Hermione gave him a small smile and threw her covers back. She noticed that she was still wearing her thin, bloodstained pyjamas. Blaise was right; it definitely did look worse in the light. Pausing briefly to let the dizziness pass, Hermione leaned down to pull her small beaded bag out of her sock. It was a terrible habit she'd gotten into; still of the mind that anything could happen at any time.

"You _still_ carry it?"

Hermione felt strange at the thought of him knowing so much about her. The feeling reminded her of the nervous excitement when she, Harry and Ron used to sneak out at night, and she didn't understand why she felt like that. She didn't reply as she raked around the inside of the bag, elbow deep. Hermione had recently reorganised the space, so the dittany bottle should have been almost immediately to the left…

She grinned as her fingers found the small bottle and pulled it out quickly. She immediately tied the bag shut and stuffed it back down her sock. The fact that Malfoy of all people now knew where she hid it, made her a little anxious. But Hermione had a feeling that it also didn't matter.

"If you'd remembered about that earlier, we would have saved a lot of damn time."

"What?" Hermione teased breathlessly, as she attempted to stand up. "Do you not want to spend time with me or something?" She whimpered a little, but managed a staggering stance, using the bed for support.

Hermione could feel the familiar stiffness in her limbs after duels, and the stinging itch of healing cuts across her body as she made her way over to the dresser where their things were. Malfoy had sure gone a few rounds on her, but there was a specific glee to be felt seeing that he was in a worse condition than her.

"No, Granger, I can't _bear_ to be apart from you for even a moment."

Before she could stop herself, Hermione giggled. "Oh dear, Malfoy, what would people think if they heard you say such a thing?" she said as she grabbed the two wands, the potion and the black leather holdall.

"Probably something like what Blaise said last night," she heard him mumble.

"Why? What did he say?" Hermione stiffened as she dropped the bag on the floor next to his head, and placed the wands and bottle of sleeping potion on the bedside table. Her hands tightened on the bottle of dittany in nervousness. She'd forgotten about wondering why Malfoy had come storming into her room in such a rage. "Was it what he said that made you come here last night?" she said uncomfortably.

Malfoy took a deep breath before he spoke. "Just heal me, Granger. Then I'll be out of your hair. Which is an effort in itself, I suppose."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue back, but realised she was too fed up and tired to argue with him anymore. She'd just ask Blaise; it would be much easier getting any kind of explanation from him than Malfoy.

She perched next on the edge of Hannah's bed next to him. Close up, Hermione could now see the extent of the damage. She forcibly swallowed the 'sorry' down her throat. No more apologising.

"Tracey did a good job getting all the splinters out," she murmured.

Malfoy grunted in reply.

"This might sting a bit," Hermione said, placing a shaking hand in the small of his back. He flinched at her touch, and she immediately withdrew her hand as if his skin had burned her. "Sorry," she mumbled, then immediately. _No apologising!_ she chastised herself.

She popped the cork on the bottle of dittany and immediately began to squeeze evenly spread droplets onto his back. "So, what's Tracey's story?" she said in an attempt to distract him. "Why was she here?"

Malfoy hissed in pain as another drop of dittany landed onto his skin. "She's a half-blood," he breathed. "So she couldn't be part of the power groups in Slytherin."

Hermione frowned and paused. She wasn't particularly in the mood to hear another story about an unjust system in the Wizarding world.

"But that didn't stop her from becoming one of the most... _Slytherin_ females in there," Malfoy continued.

Hermione resumed dropping and intermediately dabbing the excess with her fingers, since she didn't have any spare cloth to do so. "How so?" she asked.

"Davis taught herself how to magically heal pretty early on in first year, so you can imagine the demand there was for no-questions-asked healing in the Slytherin common room."

Hermione paused again. "Yes, I can believe that indeed," she said in a disapproving tone.

"So, Davis built up a bit of a name for herself, healing everything from black eyes to shoddy Dark magic attempts. But even although she had a no-questions-asked motto... it didn't mean that she didn't find out a lot in the process, regardless." Malfoy started to become a little breathless and Hermione stopped.

"Ah," she said. "So, Tracey _knows_ a lot of things about a lot of people." Hermione was impressed; Davis had used her own stigma against the prejudiced prats in Slytherin and had beaten them at their own game by learning all their dirty little secrets while fixing them up. She appreciated the irony of one of the only non-purebloods in Slytherin being the one to become the most like their house traits. "But how do you know all this?" Hermione asked with a frown. She began dabbing away at Malfoy's back again. She was almost done, but didn't particularly want to stop.

"I was the connection to her father."

"Wha... who?"

"Dolohov."

Hermione bristled. She should have recognised the long nose and the black hair in his daughter, but then again, if she wasn't looking for it, it wasn't something easily seen. "Turn over," she barked.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm done, so turn over!"

Malfoy immediately pushed himself onto his elbows and groaned at the effort. Hermione felt a little bad for him, but it was miniscule compared to her finding out this information. _Tracey Davis was Antonin Dolohov's illegitimate daughter_? They couldn't be any more different from one another, yet if Tracey had been anything like her father, it might have been catastrophic for them. Davis was a relatively invisible person on the Hogwarts spectrum; the makings for an excellent spy.

Malfoy grunted as he flipped himself over and sagged back into the mattress.

"His name protected her from you lot... and her lack of his name protected her from us," Hermione mumbled.

"And you see why now it doesn't particularly matter whether you're a mudblood or not when there's a half-blood in my house who's more Slytherin than the rest of us put together?"

Hermione stared at him, trying to discern what exactly he meant by that. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm glad he's dead," she stated.

"I don't blame you," Malfoy replied. "There's plenty people I'm glad are dead."

Hermione's hand gripped the bottle fiercely as she shook her head. "No, no, you don't understand... _he killed Remus_... not forgetting what the bastard did to _me_." Hermione pulled her shirt up and showed Malfoy the long winding purple scar that crossed her ribcage and side. She felt no shame in the act; he had to understand.

Malfoy frowned. "You shouldn't have survived that," he said, staring at her stomach. Hermione hastily pulled her top back down.

"You know what it is?"

He shrugged. "Dolohov created it himself. It's supposed to replicate death, so that the victim's loved ones think they're actually dead, and because they give up and most likely bury them, they end up dying anyway."

"Goodness," Hermione breathed in shock. She really shouldn't have survived that. "I was just out for a few days." She frowned. "But he had cast it non-verbally after I cast a Silencing Charm on him, so I suppose it would have been weaker."

"You're lucky to be alive, Granger," Malfoy muttered as he began to unravel the bandages covering parts of his arms. Hermione was then made suddenly aware of their position; sharing a bed, both not entirely dressed...

She fumbled for her wand and flicked it at him; unravelling all the bandages for him. Hermione then began to quickly drop more dittany on the places where her Slicing Charms had hit him. "You should be fine to go in an hour or so, but I'll give you the sleeping potion so that it works faster," she said, sitting back.

"Why, is there only enough for one?"

"One shouldn't sleep when they have a concussion," Hermione teased. "Do you not know basic first aid?"

"Of course I do," Malfoy replied quickly. He shuffled down the bed in an attempt to get comfy. "It feels better already," he said, rolling his shoulders.

"That's the point," Hermione said, reaching for the little violet bottle. She uncorked it and handed it over to Malfoy. "Drink."

He stared at the bottle for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether to drink it or not. Hermione stood up when he gulped it down a moment later. "How long will I be out for?" Malfoy asked, rolling onto his side.

"A few hours probably," Hermione said with a shrug.

"I know we said no apologies..." Malfoy said as she turned away. "But I'm sorry I almost made your brain explode."

Hermione smiled down at her bedcovers, before turning back around to reply. "Well, for the record, I'm sorry I almost Crucio'd you, too."

But when she did, she saw that Malfoy was already asleep. Hermione sighed. That was the best thanks she was ever going to get. She threw the burgundy cover from her own bed over him, as Hannah's was wedged tightly somewhere under his legs.

Hermione wanted to do nothing but sleep, however, as that was no longer an option, she decided to keep herself busy by fixing up their room. She walked over to the dresser and picked up the last remaining intact brandy glass. She looked around for the accompanying bottle and found that it had rolled off and away under her bed.

"_Accio_," she murmured lazily, and the bottle flew straight into her hand. "Of course _you_ survived." Hermione glanced at Malfoy's sleeping form before shrugging. "Today couldn't get any weirder anyway," she said before uncorking the bottle and pouring herself a glass.

She toasted the wrecked room, took a gulp and got to work.

...

Hannah felt like crap. She'd had barely any sleep, and that was even after Blaise had forced her to crash in his and Malfoy's room in the early hours of the morning. She'd sobbed for a while in the common room, but had quickly gotten her act together. _You're overreacting_, Hannah told herself, curled up in Blaise's bed. _You've seen worse happen to nicer people! They're fine now! Tracey has healed them, so you've got nothing to worry about!_

But Hannah couldn't help but replay the image of Hermione and Malfoy collapsed on the floor, drenched in each other's blood. Neville and Blaise had separated them after they'd fallen asleep on each other, and then lifted them onto the beds. That was especially something Hannah didn't understand. How they could have gone from almost killing each other one minute, to comforting one another the next simply made no sense to her, but she wasn't going to look into it too much. Her brain hurt enough as it was.

She was still in her clothes from yesterday, having drunkenly fallen asleep fully clothed then thrown out of her own room. Several hours had passed since Blaise had last come to see Hannah, informing her that he'd left Hermione and Malfoy to '_sort their shit out_', as he'd put it. Blaise had been very pleased to inform her that he'd also given them a good telling off. Hannah was sure she would also find it funny after she got over the shock, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

This year wasn't supposed to be dangerous. It was supposed to be bloody quiet, if not good. But that looked like that wasn't going to happen. Hannah sighed and checked Blaise's clock; it was just after midday. Surely it would be safe to return to her room now? With a huge sigh, Hannah threw back the covers and climbed out of the warm bed.

Shoeless, she walked out into the stone corridor and made her way around to Room 4 without seeing a single person. It was eerily silent in the eighth year dorm, and Hannah thought it was fitting. She didn't really understand why she felt so emotionally drained and betrayed in a way, by Hermione and Malfoy's actions last night. But whatever it was, it was time to move past it, because if _they_ were fine with it, then why the hell should _she_ not be?

Hannah paused with her hand on the doorknob, and took a deep breath. However, her decision to enter was made for her, as the dark wood door swung open and out of her hand.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and jumped back.

"Hannah!" Hermione exclaimed, looking equally as surprised. "Are you okay?"

Hannah blinked at her. "Am I okay? Am_ I_ okay?" she repeated incredulously. "Should I be the one asking if you're okay? Because from what I saw, you're lucky you're bloody alive!" Hannah started to breath heavily. She was angrier than she'd thought.

Hermione wrung her hands together. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think." She was looking at the floor, which made Hannah frown. Hermione was acting downtrodden – which was something Hannah had never seen on her. But then again, they barely knew each other.

Hannah sighed and ran forward, throwing her arms around Hermione. "I'm just glad you're fine now. You are fine now, right?"

She felt the vibrations of Hermione's chuckle. "Yes," she replied. "I am absolutely healed." Hermione stepped back with a smile on her face, and she truly did look healed. Apart from the white bandage on her head, Hermione looked entirely normal, Hannah thought. She'd obviously showered and fixed herself. Even the room behind her looked clean and tidy.

Hannah's grin slid off her face. "Oh dear," she said, pushing past Hermione into the room. "You really did kill him, didn't you!" she exclaimed, running over to a very still looking Malfoy.

"I gave him a sleeping potion, Hannah," Hermione replied calmly, as Hannah poked his arm that was hanging off of her bed. She then noticed the rise and fall of his chest and stepped back, embarrassed.

"Oh, well, sorry... uhm... yeah."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm surprised he took it to be honest," she said with a frown, looking down at him.

"The sleeping potion?"

Hermione nodded and crossed her arms. "He's distrustful."

"But tired as hell, I'd bet," Hannah replied. "He's injured and had a long day. Speaking of, why haven't you collapsed into your own bed yet?"

Hermione pointed to her bandage. "Can't sleep with a concussion. Do you not learn first aid in the wizarding world?"

Hannah shrugged. "If people want to learn Healing, they do it in their own time."

"So I've heard," Hermione mumbled. "He'll be waking up soon, and I was on my way to the kitchens. Want to join?"

Hannah blinked at her. "You know where the kitchens are?"

"Why, don't you?"

"Of course I do, I was just curious how you did."

"The Weasley twins. You?"

"I'm a Hufflepuff."

They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into similar peals of laughter.

"Come on then," Hermione said, putting her arm through Hannah's. "I'm bloody starving and I don't want Malfoy to wake up in here alone. Who knows what he'd do. Plus, Tracey will be back soon, so I don't particularly want to be out of bed when she does."

"She'll notice that you've cleaned up."

"I could have easily done that lying down."

"Got an answer for everything, don't you?" Hannah laughed.

"Of course I do," Hermione replied, grinning.

Hannah laughed again, pulling the door softly shut behind her as the two girls entered the corridor with a happier outlook on the day than either of them had woken up with.

...

It didn't matter how beautiful Ginny looked in her gown, Harry had decided that no ball was worth the trouble. He hated the restricting clothes and the polite forced conversations, but he hated the dancing most of all – _especially_ the dancing. However, at least this time he didn't have to worry about asking someone to be his date.

He and Ginny hadn't had '_the_' conversation yet, but after his birthday celebrations, when he'd finally emerged from Grimmauld Place (from where he'd escaped to after the battle) and stopped his moping, they'd just fallen back together, if such a thing existed. She'd in fact been the one to ask him to accompany her to the Welcome Ball, as Professor McGonagall had titled it.

Personally, he simply found it a waste of time and a huge security risk, as most of the attendees were coming from outside of Hogwarts. But then again, most of them were Order members, and nothing could go wrong in a room full of Order of the Phoenix members, right?

Harry was fidgeting with the cuffs of his dress robes as he sat watching Ginny dance with Dennis Creevey. He'd taken a large stretch since Harry had seen him last, and was now eye level with Ginny. She had told him that Dennis hadn't taken his brother's death well at all and was particularly struggling to keep it together. Harry had forgotten that Colin and Ginny had been in the same year. Somehow, it made Colin seem older. Harry simply got angrier at the injustice of it all every time he thought about it.

He'd been sitting at the round table for most of the night. Ginny hadn't seemed to mind about being a dance partner short; at least she understood how useless he was at it. But the longer Harry had been there, the more he had noticed. It had been more to impress Kingsley and prove to the other Aurors that he deserved to be there, but Harry had been doing a lot of studying in preparation for starting at the Ministry the following week. He knew that Hermione would be proud, but telling her would have meant telling Ron too, and Harry didn't think he was ready for that yet. As a result, he'd found himself already incorporating some of the habits into his everyday lifestyle; such as never sitting in a room with his back to the door, and creating safe words with his friends to ensure identities.

The biggest change, however, was Harry's observation skills. Since defeating Riddle, he had somehow become unapproachable to others. Not that he was complaining much; it gave him a lot more chances to people-watch and brush up on his observations.

So, after having sat on the sidelines watching the ball attendees for the last half-hour, Harry had noticed a lot of things. Several of which disturbed him. Early on, he had noticed Hannah Abbott's frequent worried glances in Malfoy's direction, which was interesting since Harry knew of no reason why Hannah would have been nervous of his presence. Soon after, he had seen Malfoy's stiff and laboured movements, as if he was injured. But Harry didn't particularly care about that; there were bound to have been confrontations regarding Malfoy's return anyway – however, Harry did wonder what Hannah had to do with it. He'd also noticed Neville's glares towards Ernie, who Hannah had arrived with, which amused him a little.

Then, Harry had seen Tracey Davis stare intently at Hermione with a frown on her face several times throughout the night, which worried him. But Harry knew that if it was a personal thing, Hermione was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. He would mention it to her later anyway.

A figure then appeared in from of him and blocked his sight of Ginny, startling him out of his thoughts. That was definitely something he had to work on before training.

"Are you going to sit there all night like the git you are, or get up off your ass and actually ask my sister to dance?"

Harry squinted upwards and saw Ron grinning down at him. Ever since he and Hermione had gotten together, he'd become insufferably cheerful. Regardless, Harry found that better than the alternative.

"I'm saving all my moves for the last dance," he replied, pushing Ron's arm playfully.

Ron dropped down into the seat next to him, and relaxed into a similar position, with his elbows on the table. "You'll probably need to prise Dennis off her in order to do that."

Harry snorted and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Hermione suddenly appeared in front of him, holding a glass out to him.

"You look like you could do with a drink," she said, smiling.

Harry took the tall glass out of her hand. "Thanks," he said and immediately took a large gulp of the champagne. He didn't like it that much, but it settled well, and it was alcohol, so it would do.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Ron said as Hermione handed him a second glass.

"Only about a hundred times, Ron," she replied, unable to keep a grin off her face.

Harry immediately averted his eyes and took another sip of his drink. He was well versed in when not to look at Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately, he'd had a long learning experience.

"I think I'm going to go to the ladies, excuse me boys," Hermione announced suddenly.

"Do you want me to escort you?"

"Ronald, that's entirely unnecessary. I'll see you in a few minutes." Hermione then kissed Ron on the cheek, gathered up her dress, stood up and left.

"I never realised… she's just amazing… you know?"

"Yeah, Ron," Harry replied absentmindedly. He suddenly noticed Davis exit the Hall right after Hermione and couldn't believe that her staring was simply a coincidence anymore. "I'll be back in a minute," he said after putting his glass down behind him and standing up.

"Well hurry back then!" Ron called after him, as Harry began to stride across the room to catch up with the two girls. Harry waved his hand at him without turning around.

He was sure it was nothing, but it would never harm anyone to check. As he sped walked out of the large doors, he caught a glance of Tracey's red dress sweeping around the corner of the Entrance Hall, towards the unused classrooms. Curious, Harry jogged a little to catch up.

Stopping to glance around the corner, he saw Davis slip into one of the classrooms down the corridor. As soon as she had shut the door behind her, Harry sprinted quietly along the dank and dark passage. _What was going on? Was Hermione in danger? Why would she come down here? What does Tracey Davis have against her?_ Harry's thoughts circled around his brain as he came up to the door. _Go in, or listen to what was going on inside first_?

Harry decided on eavesdropping; he didn't even have any proof that Hermione was in there in the first place and he didn't particularly want to walk in on Tracey and her date or something else of the sort. He dug around the inside of his robes pocket and pulled out a favourite Weasley product of his.

As soon as Harry pressed the artificial ear to his own, he heard Davis' voice as clear as if she had been standing next to him. He pressed the ear closer and stepped forward.

"-it off. Let me have a look," he heard Tracey say.

Harry jumped when he heard the next voice. "I applied some dittany not long after you left, so he should be fine," Hermione replied.

"I should definitely have a look then," Tracey replied.

"Excu-" Hermione started angrily, but a third voice spoke over her.

"I told you I'm fine, but if it makes you feel better, you can look, right?" Malfoy replied, clearly annoyed.

Harry dropped the Extendable Ear in shock. Hermione was in a deserted classroom with _Tracey Davis and Draco Malfoy_? Yeah, now he was definitely going in. Harry grabbed the doorknob and turned it so aggressively, that when the door opened it swung so wide that it clattered against the wall beside it with a loud bang.

However, Harry was clearly not prepared for what he saw. He blinked several times, just to check that what he could see was real. Malfoy was leaning forward onto one of the desks on his elbows, with his robe off and his shirt pushed up to his neck – held in place by a startled looking Hermione. Davis was standing right over him, with one hand on the reddened and seemingly injured bare skin on his back, glaring at Harry.

"He-Hermione!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh dear," Hermione mumbled. She suddenly looked at the hand holding Malfoy's shirt and quickly pulled it away and into her chest.

"Great. Now we're going to have to explain to Potter about this fucked up situation," Malfoy said while standing up and yanking his shirt down.

"I wasn't done!" Tracey barked.

"You are now," Malfoy replied calmly as he began buttoning up his shirt.

"Hermione?" Harry repeated. He was in a daze, not understanding what the hell was going on at all. "Explain."

Hermione looked at Malfoy before replying. "Well… uhm… well, we got into a little bit of an argument last night and Tracey fixed us up… but we're totally fine now, I promise. He even helped me get dressed earlier."

"He what?" Harry spat.

"Not like that!" Hermione hissed in return.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Hermione, sit down and tell me what the hell has been going on. You, too," he said, pointing between Davis and Malfoy.

Malfoy scoffed. "I don-"

"SIT THE FUCK DOWN, MALFOY!" Harry yelled.

Then, surprisingly, the three other teenagers sat down in the dusty chairs in the front row of the disused classroom obediently and without saying another word.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was 18 pages long on my laptop, jeez. Is the long chapter thing a good idea? Or would you prefer I broke it up more and posted more frequently?

Please review!

_**Holly - xo**_


	12. Chapter 12

Draco wasn't paying attention to what was happening, and he didn't particularly care. Granger had been talking to Potter for a long time, and Draco felt like he'd heard enough of her voice for the one day. Instead, he was swinging on the hind legs of the old chair, rolling his wand between his fingers, intermediately shooting white sparks from the end.

It hit him sometimes; that his wand had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord. Draco, however, had chosen to try to ignore that piece of information. It had been easy to do during the summer, when he could hide in his bedroom where it felt like it had all been some kind of awful nightmare. Now, being back at Hogwarts and especially hearing the truth straight from the horse's mouth, it was straight back to being at the forefront of his mind.

When Potter had approached him after his hearing at the Ministry, Draco didn't know whether to punch him in the throat or thank the idiot. Then, when Potter had shoved the wand into his hands, Draco had been tempted to throw it right back at him. He didn't particularly want it anymore, but he didn't have a choice – it was the wand registered to his use as part of his probation. He was lucky he didn't have any other punishments other than magic regulation, but like hell was he going to ever openly thank Potter for making that happen. It wasn't like Draco was going to use Dark magic regularly anyway.

Then, after hearing Granger's long-ass story of the actual truth, his mind was even more fucked. Draco had been sure that he'd had the worst few years of his life, but boy was he wrong. He had also severely over-estimated how much he'd known about the Dark side, despite being in rather close proximity to it. As Draco liked to put it, he was on the Beige side – not wanting to be involved in either, but as it turned out, he had been ironically important to both.

He sighed. Draco was definitely regretting returning to school. It was as if the more he fought for a quiet life, the more likely it looked like that was never going to happen.

"Think we could continue this somewhere else?" Draco said suddenly. "I think the dust in here has started to settle in my lungs." He sneered at their surroundings.

"I don't even think I should be part of this conversation anyway," Davis replied.

Potter sighed in agitation. "Yeah, well, fine. You're no longer a danger to each other, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes before nodding. He didn't even need to look at Granger to know that she was doing the same. To be entirely honest, Draco didn't want to look at her at all. It was difficult enough as it was to see a different person when he looked at her now – but the way she was dressed just made Draco want to yank his brain out of his head through his ears.

It was like the damned Yule Ball all over again. Hermione Granger wasn't allowed to look that good, especially so effortlessly. Draco didn't pay much attention to dresses, but the dress Granger was currently wearing was one he was sure he'd never be able to erase from his mind. It was straight and long, and coloured in a kind of silver Draco had never seen before. The style was very muggle, but they way the dress seemed to shimmer and glow was rather magical. It looked like she had dressed herself in moonlight, and Draco couldn't help but think that it was for him.

He knew it was a ridiculous thing to think, and if spoken aloud, would probably get him sent to the Hospital Wing to have his brain checked – but Draco couldn't help it. And he hated it. Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to look at Hermione Granger and want to pull the pins out of her perfectly styled up-do to be able to run his fingers through her hair. It was ludicrous and impossible, but it was happening.

"Okay, fine, but tell me one thing…" Potter said. "Why in the buggering hell was Malfoy there while you were getting dressed, Hermione?"

"I am here and able to answer that myself," Draco replied, taking a side look at Granger to gauge her reaction to the question.

"I told neither of them to leave the room," Tracey interrupted, to everyone's surprise.

Draco saw Granger flinch, which made him smirk. "Exactly. Plus, when Hannah had gone to fetch Ginny, I needed help zipping up my dress and Malfoy was there. That's _all_, Harry," she finished primly.

It was true; that was exactly what had happened. However, to Draco's secret delight, Granger had chosen to omit the fact that she had also helped him dress. He'd needed help getting his shirt on, and she had also tied his shoelaces for him as his back was still painful. It had made Draco uncomfortable being so close to her, but it was strangely intimate and it had turned him on a little.

To say he'd been glad to leave Room 4 was a huge understatement. Granger's presence just seemed to mess with his mind whenever she was around, and Draco couldn't stand it. People shouldn't have that much control over another. He was sick of it; bloody sick of it. But let him be damned if he was going to do anything to stop it.

"Right, fine, let's get out of here. Ron will be thinking you've taken the longest toilet break ever," Potter said as he stood up. Draco soon followed suite and flicked his wand over his dress robes to remove the dirt and dust.

"Oh dear – Ron!" Granger exclaimed, standing swiftly, covering her mouth with a hand.

Draco let out a bark of cold laughter. "You've forgotten where you've placed your beau? Oh, Granger, you crack me up." Then, with a sweeping movement strangely reminiscent of his late Godfather, Draco strode out of the room.

…

"Wo… would you like to dance? With me? I mean… dance with me?"

Hannah looked up from her clasped hands to see Neville towering over her, holding his hands in a similar way. But she was distracted, Hermione, Harry and Malfoy's absences were worrying her. They'd been gone a long time and god knows what could have happened with those three together.

She'd had no idea where to start looking for them, nor what to do if she actually found them. Therefore, Hannah had settled for keeping an eye on Ron and Ginny from across the Hall to ensure that they didn't go looking for the missing three either. So far, the siblings hadn't even noticed their other halves' hour absence from the party.

"Sorry, Neville, what did you say?" she said, finally letting go of her pale pink chiffon dress. It had acted like a stress ball for Hannah during her self-induced watch duty, and there was now a circle of creased material on the front of her dress. She tried to smooth it down.

Neville cleared his throat. "Would you like to dance with me, Hannah?" he said, extending his hand.

"Oh… I…" Hannah smiled and took his outstretched hand in her own. "I'd love to," she said, ducking her head to hide her pink cheeks, immediately forgetting about her mission.

Her hand felt like it was burning up inside his larger one. _Don't embarrass yourself, Hannah! _she thought, as Neville escorted her to the dance floor. _Be graceful, be charismatic, and most importantly don't say anything stupid!_

"So…" Hannah said nervously as they got into hold. It was a slow song, which was lucky, since that's all Hannah knew how to dance to. "Did you have a nice summer?" However, as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Her and everybody else in Hogwarts knew that Neville's grandmother had died sometime at the beginning of August. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… Oh dear, Neville, I'm sorry," Hannah stuttered, avoiding his gaze.

Neville shrugged. "It's okay, honestly. I'm okay. We were in a good place… so you know… it's fine."

Hannah looked up and found herself fighting the urge to hug him. "I'm sorry. We can talk about something else?"

"No, I'm fine, honestly. Nobody else seems to want to bring it up."

Hannah couldn't fight it anymore. She changed their hold; putting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his shoulders simultaneously. "Talk to me then," she said quietly, still swaying to the song.

Neville was silent for a moment. "You don't think Ernie will mind?"

Hannah lifted her head to look at him. "Ernie?" she repeated.

"Yeah… he's… uh… he's your date isn't he?"

"Well, yeah… but not… Ernie wouldn't like me like that."

"You're perfectly likeable!" Neville suddenly exclaimed, taking Hannah by surprise. It obviously took Neville by surprise too, as he then ducked his head and mumbled: "You know what I mean."

Hannah giggled. "No I mean Ernie wouldn't like me because I'm a _girl_."

Neville blinked at her a few times before raising his eyebrows. "Oh… _oh_."

"Yeah, _oh_," Hannah said, smiling. "Plus I don't like him like that anyway."

"But you like someone?"

"Just dance with me, Neville," Hannah said, shaking her head with a smile. Maybe one day he'd get the hint. One day.

…

She wasn't looking at him, but Hermione could feel Harry's eyes burning into the side of her head as they walked. She suddenly wished she'd made a run for it like Malfoy had. Tracey had simply disappeared. Now that Hermione had noticed her properly, she also noticed how much Tracey _wasn't _there, which was worrying.

"Hermione," Harry said. "Hermione! Talk to me!" He made to grab her arm, and Hermione pulled it away, startled.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I was lost in my own thoughts."

"I can see that."

"Look, Harry, you don't have to worry about me here. I can handle myself, remember?"

"You really don't have to remind me of that," Harry laughed, but he stopped abruptly and sighed. "But you shouldn't have to. We were supposed to be safe now!" he growled.

"Draco Malfoy is not a threat to me!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing an angry finger at Harry's chest.

A few straggling students stopped to look at them in surprise. Hermione glared at them and grabbed Harry's arm, leading him off to the side. They had reached the Entrance Hall and the gentle music coming from the Great Hall was filtering out through the doors.

"Harry," Hermione said with a sigh, as Harry gave her an indignant look as he yanked his own arm away from her. "Malfoy and I are absolutely fine. Friendly even." She made a face. Maybe that was a bit of a push, but they'd lasted the past day without any incident, which was definite improvement.

"I... urgh... I don't... Can we just go back to the ball now?" Harry made a similar face of confused disgust.

Hermione shook her head and linked her arm through Harry's with a sly smile on her face. "Only if you dance with me," she said lightly.

They began to walk back towards the Great Hall as he blanched. "You're formidable, Hermione Granger."

"Thank you."

...

"Can I cut in?"

"Yeah, of course, Harry! See you later, Ginny!"

"Bye, Dennis," Ginny replied with a smile, as she took Harry's hand. "Finally decided to get up off your ass then?"

Harry pulled her closer. "I'm hiding from Hermione," he said proudly. "She wanted _another _dance. But I hate it when you sound like Ron," he mumbled.

"Too close for comfort?" she teased.

"Most definitely," Harry nodded. He jerked his head in the direction Dennis had disappeared to. "You've got a fan."

Ginny shrugged as they turned on the spot. "Colin was my friend."

Harry frowned. He knew he should tell her about the Founders issue they had, but at the same time he didn't want to talk about it; he didn't want it to be real. He'd had enough issues to sustain him for a lifetime, and just when he thought they were over, _this_ appeared. He knew he had to tell her though; she was Ginny.

"I have to talk to you later," he finally said.

Ginny blinked in surprise. "Okay..." she replied cautiously. "What's it about? Should I be worried?" she said teasingly.

"Well, yeah, I suppose..."

"Harry Potter are you breaking up with me again?"

"Wha..." Harry stuttered. "No, never! I wouldn't! I promise!"

"Never?" Ginny smirked at him.

"I... uh... well..."

"Oh for cripes sakes, Harry, don't look so shocked. I'm teasing!" Ginny smacked him on the arm, and Harry immediately felt lighter. He grinned at her.

_Never_. He hadn't meant it to sound like that, but now that it was out there, he didn't entirely hate the sound of it. Propose to Ginny? Harry almost scoffed at himself. He couldn't even ask her to a ball – and she was his girlfriend! Maybe he'd consider it if she could stand him for another year at least.

"Harry!" Ginny reprimanded. She had been talking to him and he hadn't been paying attention.

"What? Sorry."

"Jeez, whatever you want to tell me must be a biggie. You didn't even notice stepping on my foot. Is it serious? What's it about?"

Harry looked down at their feet, as if he'd suddenly see his feet standing on hers of their own accord. "Sorry!" he exclaimed. "It's..." but he trailed off as he saw something over Ginny's shoulder which distracted him.

Ginny turned her own head around to see what had captivated him. "Wha... Hermione and Malfoy? That's… uh… different… Harry?"

Harry frowned, just as he noticed Ron walking over to them. He was also frowning.

"Ginny, dance with me so I can hear what they're saying," Ron said as soon as he reached them.

"A simple please would suffice," Ginny muttered as she let go of Harry. "See you later, then," she said to him, kissing him on the cheek.

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly. "I have to go talk to Hannah anyway."

"Wh-" Ginny began.

"Later, I promise," Harry said as he walked away.

He spotted Hannah immediately. The blonde hair and the pink dress were easy to see through the mass of people on the dance floor. She was dancing with Neville. _Finally_, he thought with a smile as he caught up with them.

"Sorry Neville, but can I cut in here?"

"Oh... well, yeah sure, Harry." Neville waved in farewell to Hannah, who responded in kind.

"Hey, Harry," Hannah said breathlessly as they got into hold.

Harry smirked at her. "So?"

"I don't know what you mean," Hannah teased. She could barely contain the huge grin forming on her face.

Harry laughed. "I'm glad," he said sincerely. "Hannah..." he started in a serious tone. The grin slid off her face. "I need to talk to you about Hermione and Malfoy."

"I don't know what you mean," Hannah repeated, but in a stern tone.

"I know they fought."

"Then what do you need to talk about?"

"Hannah," Harry groaned impatiently. "Nobody seems to want to talk about it and we've all this Founders stuff to worry about and we're supposed to be a team and I'm worried about Hermione, so just tell me what happened, okay?"

Hannah surprised him by giggling. "Who knew Harry Potter was a whiner!" she said, shaking her head.

"I am not!"

Hannah laughed harder. "Yeah, sure. Potter… our big whining hero."

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but changed his mind; it would just prove her point. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Harry shook his head. "I just want a third perspective, okay? Because they're acting as if it was no big deal."

Harry saw Hannah's shock in her eyes before she looked away. "We thought they were going to kill each other," she muttered after a moment, avoiding looking at him.

"Seriously?" he said, startled. Harry let out a deep breath. "Whole story. Now. Then I'll drop it. I promise."

Hannah then began to talk really fast. "We walked in on them… then Blaise was there… and we got drunk… then I fell asleep and woke up to Malfoy barging in and yelling at Hermione… who kind of lost it at him to be honest… then they started shouting at each other the next thing we know curses were getting thrown around… and then Hermione flipped and threw herself at him and took off his shirt… and they got really personal which lead to…" Hannah suddenly bit her lip.

Harry tightened his grip. "What? What did it lead to?"

Hannah sighed. "Harry, you have to know that they've resolved their differences, right?"

"Yeah, Hermione said. But to be honest, I wouldn't have believed her if I couldn't see what I do right now."

Hannah frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry shook his head and turned them around so that she was now standing where he had been. Hannah peered around his shoulder and giggled loudly. Harry raised his eyebrows at her.

"Nobody would see it coming, yet it seems obvious," she said, smiling at him.

"What does? What's obvious?" Harry asked, clearly confused. What did she mean? Was Hannah implying that Hermione and Malfoy _liked_ each other?

"They're very similar to have come from such different backgrounds, don't you think?" Hannah said absentmindedly, as she stared shamelessly at the dancing couple behind Harry.

Harry sighed in relief; Hannah meant their friendship. That Hermione and Malfoy would make good _friends_. While that was clearly the better option, it still caused a funny taste to form in Harry's mouth if he thought about it.

"I wonder what his game is."

Hannah turned them again, so that both of them could now see the other dancing couple. "Oh, I don't think he has one."

Harry looked at her out of the side of his eye. "What makes you think that?"

Hannah smiled as she turned to look at him. "Just look at them." She jerked her head in Hermione and Malfoy's direction.

And sure enough, Harry saw a smile he'd never seen on Malfoy before. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that Hermione was laughing. Harry didn't know what to think of it at all.

"How did the night end, Hannah?" Harry said softly.

Hannah smiled. "They resolved their differences," she replied.

Harry scrutinised her expression, then gave up after a moment. He sighed. "You want a drink? Because I definitely do." He then escorted Hannah towards the semi-bar on the other side of the room, leaving Hermione and Malfoy to do… whatever they were doing.

…

"Ron… _Ron_!" Ginny slapped her brother on the arm.

He flinched in surprise and tore his eyes away from the couple behind Ginny. "_Ow_!" he complained dramatically. "Whazzat for?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You ask me to dance, then just stand there, gripping my hands so tight that they've gone white." She held them up to further her point.

"Sorry, Gin," Ron replied with a sigh.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother. He had been unusually calm about the whole weird-as-crap 'Hermione and Malfoy' thing that was going on somewhere behind her. It looked like Ron was in on whatever had transpired earlier when Harry, Hermione and Malfoy had disappeared for an hour. She had been very close to asking (demanding) Harry to tell her about it all when he'd said he had to 'talk' to her later. Ginny was going to be very pissed if it wasn't anything to do with this.

She sighed, and grabbed Ron's elbow. "Come on," she said, leading him away from the dancefloor. "Whatever is going on, I don't think dancing, however terribly, is going to help."

Ron was silent as she weaved through the crowd of people and towards their table. Ginny brought him round and sat him down in front of her. She remained standing. "Explain," she said, with a hand gesture for emphasis. She crossed her arms tightly.

"I thought Harry would have told you already," Ron whined.

"Well, he was, but later. You're here _now_, so you can do it. Tell me what the hell is going on, Ronald Weasley, or so help me, God."

"Gin, it's nothing, honestly. They're all just working together on something for McGonagall."

Ginny dropped her arms to her sides. "Professor McGonagall has asked Harry, Hermione and Malfoy to work together on a secret project?" she asked slowly. _What? _

"And Hannah Abbott," Ron added.

"Hannah?" Ginny repeated, surprised. "Harry, Her… I don't get it," she mumbled. Ginny didn't understand the connection between the four. What on earth would McGonagall need _those_ four for. "Maybe if it was someone from each house…" she continued to mutter.

"Look, Ginny," Ron said, as he stood up. "Harry will probably tell you more later, but I don't really know much more than you do."

He made to move past her, but she grabbed his arm. "But that doesn't explain why you're so calm about _that_." She jerked her head in the direction they'd last seen the couple in question.

"Hermione told me that they all _have_ to spend time with each other or something," Ron said with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I have to be comfortable about it though."

"I second that," Ginny said with a wide eyed sceptical look. Harry better tell her what was going on later, or else she was going to be truly, _very_ pissed.

...

Hermione had barely let go of Harry's hands when Malfoy had appeared at her side on the dancefloor. "What?" she blurted out in surprise.

Malfoy scoffed at her. "Dance with me, Granger," he said, taking her hand.

"Why?" Hermione replied in a daze, as Malfoy led her towards the centre of the dancing crowd of couples.

"Because I have to talk to you." He stopped suddenly and pulled Hermione immediately into a strong hold before she could take a breath.

"And you couldn't have done that outside the social conventions of dancing which require such close contact with one another?"

He smirked. "No."

Hermione's instinct wanted to scold him, but she found herself biting back a smile instead. "So what do you want to talk about?" she said brusquely, trying to shake off the feelings she was currently having.

"Straight to the point and as Gryffindor as ever," Malfoy replied with a shake of his head.

"Well, I _was_ one for seven years of my life," Hermione said sharply. "I wouldn't expect you to suddenly stop being Slytherin overnight either."

Malfoy laughed sharply. "Of course _I_ wouldn't. Being his modern embodiment and all."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think that's what this is," she said.

"What is it then?" he asked, spinning them in a tight circle.

"Due to the relevance of core magic in the original situation… it got me thinking… I'm certain that us being chosen hasn't got anything to do with us being similar to the Founders. If the magic that Professor McGonagall is going to attempt to perform is to work correctly, then our core magic must be as similar as the Founders' were." Hermione forced herself to think despite the spinning going on in her head that she didn't think was entirely due to the dancing.

Malfoy frowned. "So you're saying that, for example, you weren't chosen because you're the cleverest Ravenclaw? It's somehow because you, Potter, Abbott and I have the same core magic?"

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. "No, I was not. And when you put it like that, it does sound rather ridiculous."

"Did you just admit to not being the cleverest person in our year?" Malfoy replied in a teasing tone.

Then, to Hermione's shock and surprise, he began to smile. It took her off guard and she (to her own horror) began to stutter. _My goodness, he's pretty when he smiles_, Hermione thought before she could stop herself.

"Wow, Granger, is that thought really too much to process?"

"What thought?" Hermione replied defensively. She hadn't accidentally spoken aloud, had she?

"I think you just answered that for yourself. Especially if you think that _us_ four have similar core magic."

Hermione relaxed a little; she hadn't spoken out loud. However, she had managed to look like an idiot in front of probably the only person their age who could challenge her. Hermione wanted to kick herself. She didn't know what whatever they were doing was, but her and Malfoy becoming friends couldn't be the worst thing in the world, right?

"And why would that thought be so abhorrent to you?" Hermione replied angrily, the sudden thought of friendship relinquishing entirely. "You know for yourself how well Harry responded to using your wand. And I can also add that the same happened when he used mine."

"It is not _abhorrent_ to me," Malfoy hissed in reply.

Hermione felt his grip tighten around her, and she tensed in wait of his response. She watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. While his grip loosened, he didn't move any further away from her.

"The fact of the matter is…" Malfoy began slowly. "Is that you have to admit that you and I having the same core magic is strange."

Hermione took a deep breath of her own. "If you are insinuating…" she started, but Malfoy but her off.

"Do you think I would be dancing with you at the most public event of the year if I still thought those things?"

Hermione pulled back, and stared at him for a moment. "Why _are_ you dancing with me?"

"I told you, I needed to ta-"

"Oh, bullshit." Hermione felt a surge of pride as she saw Malfoy's look of surprise on his face at her brashness. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Why wouldn't I want to dance with you?" Malfoy replied.

"Because we're us?" Hermione's heart was racing. What was he doing? Why was she so unsure of what she was saying?

"You said it yourself this morning, Granger. We're well past all that now. Plus, we've seen what the world is like, and it's a lot bigger than whatever petty hatred we thought we had."

Hermione was confused. She frowned. "I do not understand you at all, Malfoy," she said with a small shake of her head.

They were standing so close that his sudden laughter physically jolted Hermione. She felt like she was now having heart palpitations. She needed to get out of there and she needed space to calmly figure out and deliberate everything that Malfoy had said to her. Sure, he might not be the new Salazar Slytherin, but he still was pure Slytherin on the inside and out, and he would never do anything without his own personal gain.

"At last a problem that Golden Granger can't figure out."

Hermione smiled. "I-" she began, but the sudden appearance of Harry at her side startled her into silence.

"I think it's time," Harry said blankly.

"Already?" Hermione said, as she shared a brief glance with Malfoy. And from what she could see in her dance partner's eyes, he looked just as reluctant to go with Harry as she felt.

* * *

**A/N:** I HAVE A BETA! Say hello to _sallymact_! She is literally my new favourite person and you should all totally check out her story: _Unity_. It's brilliant and one of the best I've read.

I hope you liked the chapter, (now that the writing is undoubtedly better) and as always: please review!

**_Holly - xo_**


	13. Chapter 13

Harry had barely lifted the goblet to his mouth when Professor McGonagall appeared next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah giggle into her hand at his frustration.

"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said, with a nod. "Miss Abbott."

"Hello Professor," Hannah mumbled.

"It's nearing midnight and things should be wrapping up soon. The ceremony will begin shortly after."

Harry almost choked on his wine, haven finally taken a sip. He had in fact entirely forgotten. What with all the other things to worry about, the actual ritual had been pushed to the back of his mind. "I thought we had more time," he choked out.

Professor McGonagall looked at him over her glasses. "No, Mr Potter, I am afraid not. However, I am glad to see you are taking full advantage of the festivities." She made a pointed look at his goblet. Harry barely had time to wrack his brain for a defence before she began speaking again. "Please fetch Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy and escort them to the room next to the staff table." Then, with a parting nod at each of the stunned teenagers, she left.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," Hannah chanted and flapped her hands simultaneously. "I know we don't have to do any kind of spell but I'm still not ready, I'm not prepared, I should have practiced something, _anything_. Do you think it will be difficult?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. But I think she would have at least told us if not trained us if it was."

Hannah nodded. "You're right, yes, you're right. You go get the others and I'll get myself together."

Harry grunted and began to make his way through the crowd. Why hadn't Professor McGonagall just gone to get them herself? But then as he muttered an "Excuse me," to a seventh year couple, a figurative light bulb appeared above his head.

Professor McGonagall knew that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy dancing together in public was a big deal – and walking into the middle of the dance floor to split them up would definitely not make a good impression. They needed to show as much unity as was possible and this was a big step in that direction.

"… can't figure out," Harry heard Malfoy say as he walked up to them.

Hermione began to reply but stopped as she spotted him.

"I think it's time," he said, choosing to ignore the quick look they shared before breaking apart.

"Already?" Hermione questioned in a hushed voice as they immediately began to weave through the crowd.

Harry shrugged. "That's what I said, too."

"Where are we going?" Hermione immediately replied.

"The room I went into after my name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire," Harry said over his shoulder as they moved to travel single file through the dense crowd of bodies. Inviting outsiders had really filled the capacity of the Great Hall.

"Hm," he heard Hermione say. "I'm still vexed about how little we know about this whole ordeal. I mean, will it have any lasting effects? We don't even know what we have to do in..." she trailed off as someone cut through their group.

Harry nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see him. He stopped when they reached the bottom of the staff table and waited for them to catch up. Hannah suddenly appeared at his side.

"Hey," she said breathlessly. "I just had to give Neville literally the worst excuse ever not to dance."

"What was it?" Harry asked with amused curiosity.

"That I had sore feet."

"That's not so bad."

"He said 'why don't you just cast a cushioning charm?'" Harry nodded, suddenly understanding. "I hitched a ride with a passing group of girls," Hannah continued bitterly. However, her face immediately brightened as Hermione approached. "Hermione! How's your head?"

Hermione waved her hand. "Can't even feel it."

"Malfoy?" Hannah questioned warily. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "The same, more or less."

"Good… good…" she muttered uncomfortably. "Can we go in now? Even I know that this is hardly discreet."

Harry motioned her forward with a sweep of his hand and waited until she had passed to follow. His heart was racing, and Harry had no idea why.

…

Minerva was nervous. This whole thing was ridiculous and reckless and she couldn't believe that she had put the responsibility of the future of Hogwarts on four of her students – students who had no idea what they were getting into. Although, truthfully, Minerva didn't entirely understand the full picture either. She had absolutely no idea what it would change both in Hogwarts and in the students themselves, which was what she berated herself for the most.

It was a few minutes before the tall door opened and Hannah Abbott appeared, followed closely by Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy, who closed the door behind him. Minerva took a deep breath as the four teenagers looked expectantly at her.

"Good evening," she said.

The four nodded in reply at her, their movements out of synchronisation. It was obvious that they were nervous, and Minerva regretted having to put them into a situation which caused that. Again. She sighed, and stepped to the side.

"As you can see," she said, indicating with her hand. "Each chair, or throne as you will, has been placed in an order that Rowena Ravenclaw specified in her personal journals. The ritual itself is very simple and short." Minerva paused for a moment. "I will be honest, however, in saying that the after-affects are unclear and I want to stress that you are still able to leave and not perform it. Although, what would happen to Hogwarts if we do not do this is also unclear."

The four were silent for a long time. Minerva was almost sure that they were all going to turn tail and run before Harry spoke.

"Professor Dumbledore once told me that Hogwarts will always give help to those who need it… and it always has for me, even when I didn't know I needed it. So, I think that for me to turn down an offer to help it in return would just be stupid and unfair."

Minerva almost expected Mr Potter to throw down his sword at her feet next, but the sentiment the boy continued to show lightened her heat a little. This was the first home he had ever known – of course he was going to protect it.

Miss Granger shared a look with the other two and nodded. "What do we have to do?" she asked, setting her jaw.

Hiding her proud smile, Minerva got straight to business. "The reason that I am sure that there will be after-affects," she said, beckoning them over to where the thrones were sitting in a line in front of the large fireplace. "…is because there will be blood magic involved."

"_Blood magic_?" Mr Malfoy exclaimed, and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Ah… are you sure, Professor?" Miss Granger asked, also pausing in her steps.

Mr Potter looked between the two shocked faces, as Minerva's own face tightened with the stress. Maybe she should have started with that fact.

"Why is that such a big deal?" Mr Potter asked. "Hermione?"

"It's… well, it's like what Professor McGonagall said… there's likely post-ritual magical affects on the participa-"

"You mean life-altering changes!" Mr Malfoy interrupted.

"Like what?" Miss Abbott had begun to wring her hands on the front of her dress.

"Please!" Minerva exclaimed, in an attempt to redirect their attention. When they fell silent and turned to her, she spoke more softly. "The Founders existed in a time where magic like this was the norm and wands were rare. Even Merlin's staff was more common-place than a wand. The reason the Founders were such a formidable quartet was because they had a core magic connection and had become masters in wandless magic."

Miss Granger opened and closed her mouth several times. "So… the ritual is designed to do something similar to us?" she finally asked.

"That's what I expect," Minerva replied.

"I stand by my earlier statement, Professor," Mr Potter said. "I'll do it."

"Me too," Miss Abbott said, earning surprised looks from everyone. "Hogwarts is worth it," she said determinedly.

"I… I will also do it," Miss Granger said.

"Are you mad?" Mr Malfoy almost screamed. "All of you! You have no idea what this could do. I mean, death could be the best outco-"

"Malfoy!" Miss Granger yelled, startling them all.

Minerva could have sworn she saw the girl stamp her foot. She quirked an eyebrow. It was going to be very interesting to see whether the person to change Draco Malfoy's mind was going to be Hermione Granger. _Albus would enjoy this immensely_, she thought to herself.

"Stop it! Just… _Stop_! Maybe try not to be a selfish prick for once?"

"_Selfish_? This has nothing to do with me, I'll have you know, Granger. It's for all our sakes! You know nothing about true blood magic, noth-"

"Ah yes, and no doubt you have some anecdote about one of your nasty pureblood ancestor's despicable discretions."

"Well at least not all of my knowledge comes out of a book, Granger."

"Seriously, _that_ old comeback? Come on, Malfoy you know that's not true. Maybe if you actually paid attention to other people, you would have remembered."

"Regardless, it's true in this situation. You don't know shit about what this could do."

"Double negative – so your point is irrelevant. And I _do_ know what it could do, and I'm still ignoring it."

"My mum!" Mr Potter suddenly exclaimed. "That was blood magic too, wasn't it, Professor?"

"A different kind from this specifically… but essentially, yes."

"So it can be proved that all blood magic doesn't have bad effects?"

"Not all blood magic would affect the participant negatively anyw-"

"There you have it, Malfoy, this could just as easily not end badly."

"Please tell me you didn't just use yourself as an example of that, because that's still a worst case scenario, Potter."

Minerva sighed. She wanted to stamp her foot too.

"Which one of us has defeated death three times, Malfoy?"

"Oh for f-"

"Enough!" Minerva shouted. "With three of you it should still be sufficient for the ritual to work properly. Are you solidly against this, Mr Malfoy?"

He stood stock still with his chin slightly aloft for a few moments. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I have nothing to lose, anyway. Let's just get this dumb thing over with." He stormed past her and stood next to the black chair at the start of the row.

Minerva cleared her throat. She hadn't expected his cooperation after that, but it was welcome. "Miss Granger, if you please," she then said, indicating to the chair next to Slytherin's.

Miss Granger gracefully picked up her skirts and walked to stand to the left of the first golden chair. Feeling slightly miffed, Minerva suddenly realised that she was probably going to have to look for a new desk chair.

"Miss Abbott, Mr Potter, respectively," she finished.

Then, as she saw her four students standing proudly next to the Founders' thrones in their gallant dress robes, Minerva felt pride build up inside her. Their silhouettes were illuminated by the roaring fire behind them and cast elongated shadows towards her. Of course these four could hold the responsibility of this on their shoulders; they'd fared much better with a hell of a lot worse.

"As I said," Minerva said, and cleared her throat. "The Founders were known for their wandless magical prowess, but not unlike the other high society witches and wizards of their time, they did start with wands of their own." Minerva was blindly following what she had read in Rowena Ravenclaw's journal, and intensely hoping it would work.

"What happened to them?" Miss Granger asked.

"If you would please take out your wands," Minerva continued, ignoring the girl's worried expression.

When the four complied, Minerva gestured for them to sit. After a brief hesitation, they lowered themselves into the large chairs. The five seemed to all hold their breath in the same moment; waiting for something to happen. But as Minerva already knew, nothing would and nothing did. The four simultaneously exhaled.

"Wands on the right armrest, and repeat after me: _expecto libertas, expecto virtutem_."

The four did as their Headmistress asked. However, nothing conspicuous happened afterward, which began to cause some panic among them.

"Professor, I don't think..." Miss Granger started softly, but Minerva held up her hand. She was concentrating on the right armrests of the chairs.

"The wands," she said quietly.

Miss Abbott gasped. "My wand!" she exclaimed. "Will we get them back? Professor?"

But Minerva was distracted. She had noticed the next step of the ritual become apparent. A small single golden spike had appeared on the left armrest of each chair. "I believe this is where the blood magic comes into play," Minerva said solemnly.

Miss Granger scoffed, to Minerva surprise. "Let's hope we don't fall into a deep sleep," she said sarcastically.

Mr Potter laughed at her comment, causing the other two students to look at them strangely.

"What a strange thing to say..." muttered Miss Abbott.

Minerva understood the reference and appreciated the wit, but this was a serious business and her patience was running thin. "I loathe asking this of you," she began. "However, if you all would please repeat after me and pierce your left palm on the device simultaneously."

The four silently positioned their left palms above the golden needles now protruding from their throne-like chairs. Minerva's breath haltered for a moment. There really was no going back after this. "_Dabo magiae core vita mea ad maius bonum meum,_" she all but whispered.

Somehow the four paling students before her had heard the quiet words and repeated them after Minerva, verbatim. After translating them herself earlier that week, the particular wording had worried her. Asking young adults to perform blood magic and having the following enchanted words asking them to give their 'magic, life and core to a good greater' than their own was questionable. It seems that while others had lost more over the past year, Minerva had simply lost her sense.

Varying gasps then filled her ears as Draco, Hermione, Hannah and Harry then pierced their hands, strangely at exactly the same time. Minerva flinched.

There was a silence in the room like nothing she had felt before. It was somehow more than silence; it demanded to be heard. The five inhabitants knew to wait for whatever happened next. They barely breathed in anticipation.

Minerva saw it first. The runes above the teens' heads began to glow white, just as the people below the inscriptions passed out. Their heads lolled to the side eerily simultaneously.

She gasped as the light grew brighter and brighter until everything eventually became entirely dark.

* * *

**A/N:** You'll never believe it, but I am indeed actually back!

I apologise profusely for the long absence, and also because this chapter is shorter, but I liked having it end here. Chapter 14 is in progress!

Thanks so much for sticking with this.

_**Holly - xo**_


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione woke up alone. Her entirely body ached and her eyes wouldn't stop rolling around in her head. For the first few seconds of her newly conscious state, she had no idea who she even was.

"Dear Merlin..." Hermione muttered as she lifted her head off of the cold stone floor. She felt as if she had been knocked out by a troll... while suffering from the worst hangover of her life.

It took her a moment, but as soon as Hermione propped her unsteady and painful body onto her elbows, she realised what exactly was wrong with where she was.

"Harry?" she called as she sloppily tried to stand up. Hermione stumbled to her full height, and realised that she was still wearing her ball gown. "Professor?"

Not only was she no longer in the Ravenclaw chair, she was no longer in that room. Somehow, Hermione had managed to find herself somewhere in a corridor in the South wing. That she could tell for herself at least due to the view of the mountains out of the window in front of her. The light from which was giving her newly sensitive eyes to ache.

However, Hermione didn't recognise the corridor. She couldn't even determine what floor she was on. Automatically reaching to her right side, Hermione suddenly realised why she felt so bare; her wand was missing.

With a deep sigh and a moment she took to close her eyes, Hermione suppressed the sadness of the loss of her familiar. McGonagall had known that they would lose their wands, and still hadn't said a word. Hermione had a few questions to ask her headmistress whenever she found her again.

Accepting the fact that she had somehow ended up alone in a random corridor and clearly having been unconscious for many hours (considering the amount of daylight now outside), Hermione started walking, hoping to find the main corridor and some answers.

It took her several minutes before she realised her feet were actually leading her somewhere. Hermione started to worry about how many medical analysis's she would have to perform on herself later as she was clearly experiencing serious amnesia. She came to this conclusion the further she walked through Hogwarts, because Hermione no longer recognised where she was. The corridors were unfamiliar, as was the route she was taking.

What indeed had the Founders ritual done to her? _Them_, even. The fact that Hermione had not woken up next to any of the other three nor Professor McGonagall was another worry. Maybe none of them had woken up next to each other? Hermione felt as though most of her current problems could have been solved if she had still had her wand in her possession. She had rarely felt so helpless.

_I'm in Hogwarts, for goodness sake_, Hermione thought as she rounded yet another unknown corner. _I have to come across somewhere I know soon._

Then, just as her patience was beginning to turn into frustration, she stopped. Her feet halted below her as if they had a mind of their own. But that was when she felt it. Hermione's hair bristled and goosebumps creeped up and down her arms.

"How odd…" she murmured. Hermione took a tentative step backwards and forwards again in an attempt to determine where the strange feeling had come from. She moved towards the wall and began to run her hands up and down the cold stone. "It's almost as if… _oh!_"

Hermione was cut off as the granite wall appeared to melt away and a room materialised behind it. Letting curiosity get the better of her, Hermione stepped through.

…

Draco was engrossed in the journal he had picked up when he was interrupted. He was so startled by the appearance of another person that he dropped the thousand year old book he was holding.

"Oh, sorry!" Hannah blurted out. "I didn't think anyone else was in here. But now that I think about it… it makes sense that you are."

Draco didn't respond straight away. He stretched down to retrieve the book, barely suppressing a groan and an urge to hold his back. He checked the book to ensure that the fall hadn't caused it to crumble to dust like it felt it would.

"I think we've found our office," he finally said.

Draco had woken up in the dungeons on his own about half an hour previous. However, as he'd attempted to navigate himself back to where he thought the Great Hall would be, he found himself drawn to here instead.

After slipping behind a strangely motionless portrait on the wall somewhere deep in the dungeons, Draco had found himself alone in this opulent room. It appeared to look like some sort of common room; however, the four separate desks in different areas implied that it was more like an office.

On further inspection, Draco had found that the four desks and the areas surrounding them were dedicated to each Hogwarts House; or in particular the individual from whom they were founded. But one thing he noticed was that the four chairs come thrones were now also in the room. They sat behind each desk, as if that's all they were.

Draco spun around and counted them several times. There were four as he expected, but what shocked him was that they were now _all_ different colours, which was what confused him. He tentatively headed towards the desk decorated in the familiar silver and green of his house. His hand hovered for a moment before settling on the embossed runes on the arms of the chair.

Whether it was from relief or anxiety, Draco's breath haltered. His chair was now silver. Entirely, blindingly and relievingly.

...

He had avoided actually sitting in the chair so far, and had instead busied himself by rummaging through the head of Slytherin's desk drawers. Draco had pulled the first book he had found out of the top drawer and much to Draco's joy, it was Slytherin's journal.

With no idea how much time had passed since, Draco had physically jumped when Hannah Abbott simply appeared from nowhere.

"Our office…" Hannah repeated what Draco had said as she wandered towards the fireplace.

"Hufflepuff's is that one," he replied. Draco lazily indicated to his right without looking up.

"Oh my, isn't this exciting?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at the Hufflepuff. She had sat herself in the tall chair, and looked dwarfed by it. He found it interesting to note that the throne of Hufflepuff was now more of a rose-gold colour than its previous ostentatious gold tone.

"That's one way to put it."

"Why do y-" Hannah was then cut off by the appearance of someone else. Draco silently and internally cheered.

Granger appeared on his left. _Great_, he thought, _this means I face Potter_. Draco glared at the empty golden (it was Potter, so of _course_ it was still dreadfully golden) chair directly across from him.

"What is this?" she demanded.

_Of course the first thing she would say is a question_, Draco thought. He rolled his eyes behind the book.

"Our office," Hannah replied excitedly. "The desk behind you is yours!" She pointed.

Draco wasn't watching her, but he knew that Granger wouldn't immediately sit in the chair just like he had. They were magical relics, which were now catered to responding to their own magic. However, after seeing Hannah sit in hers with no repercussions, it eased his mind slightly about sitting in his own.

"Thank Merlin we weren't appointed Head Girl and Boy then." Granger surprised Draco by speaking directly to him. "Then we would have had two offices to share."

Draco snapped the journal shut and tucked it under his arm; he was definitely taking it with him. He shrugged, looking over at her.

"It just means we spend less time with each other," Draco said.

He almost smacked himself in the head. _What was _that_ supposed to mean_, he scolded himself. Draco tried to look away coolly.

Granger simply raised her eyebrows at him. He watched her lower herself into her own chair. Draco was pleased to notice that Granger's chair was now a rich shade of bronze.

…

Hermione's headache was not fading; it was, in fact, becoming worse. She was stooped over her desk with the weight of pain it was causing her. It was very unusual, so it had to be something to do with the blood magic ritual. She was about to ask the other two if they were suffering from it too, when Harry appeared.

"Goodness!" Hannah exclaimed, causing Hermione's mouth to twitch into a small smile.

"Looks like I'm last," Harry said, turning around and walking towards his apparent desk cautiously. "You guys haven't been waiting long, have you?"

"Only about half the day," Hermione heard Malfoy mutter. She let out a snort. Everyone looked at her in surprise.

"No, not long," she said, pretending like the snort didn't happen. Hermione purposefully kept her gaze away from Malfoy's direction.

Harry sat in his golden chair. Hermione was interested to see that his was the only one which had remained that colour following the ritual. To be perfectly candid, she was pleased about her new colour. Gold was such a… _Gryffindor_ colour.

"Good," Harry said in reply. "Malfoy, aren't you going to sit?"

His question directed all their gazes to the nonchalant Slytherin, currently leaning on the bookshelf behind his own chair. Hermione suddenly felt like she could feel Malfoy's unease at that question. He had made it clear from the start about his distrust of that chair.

"Need the perfect symmetry, Potter?" Malfoy replied scathingly, as he slowly sat. Hermione could have sworn she heard him mutter: "My back was hurting me anyway." But she didn't see him move his mouth. Hermione shook her head. She really needed to go to bed and rest.

"The room seems set up for it, Malfoy, that's all," Harry replied coolly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Hannah across the room. Hannah replied in kind with a shake of her head. Hermione's smile then slipped from her face as she scanned the room.

"This room shouldn't exist," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked immediately. His hand went to his right side for his wand but faltered as he realised it wasn't there.

"Look," Hermione indicated to each window behind each desk. "Grounds… forest… lake… and mountains." She pointed to Harry, Hannah, Malfoy and herself respectively. "At no point in Hogwarts, _anywhere_, can you see all the surrounding grounds from one room."

The other three simultaneously turned around to look out of their windows.

"I can see the Quidditch pitch from here," Harry said gleefully.

"You're right," Malfoy said.

Hermione laughed. "Did I just hear that right?"

The other three looked at her strangely.

"That… I can see the Quidditch pitch from here?" Harry asked slowly.

Hermione frowned. "No," she said. "That Malfoy said I was right." She turned to Malfoy as if to ask him to back her up.

He recoiled at her accusation. "I didn't say it _aloud_," he replied.

"Liar!" Hermione pointed at him. "I heard you say it!"

"I didn't say I didn't say it!" Malfoy hissed in return.

Hermione's heart stopped. He didn't surely mean…

"Think something," she whispered. Her eyes were wide, staring at him.

"You have got to be shitting me," she heard him say. But Hermione did not see his face move.

She stood up so quickly, the desk in front of her jostled.

"What? What is it?" Hannah asked anxiously.

Hermione gasped and closed her eyes. She put her hands on her face. "The blood," she murmured. "The blood," she repeated louder, taking her hands away.

Malfoy's own eyes widened. "The blood," he repeated.

"What the hell am I missing, here?" Harry interjected. He looked as if he wanted to stand as well.

Hermione slumped back down into the chair and stared out into the no-man's land in the centre of the room.

"During our… squabble… Granger and I must have mixed the blood from our injuries together somehow," Malfoy explained.

The room was silent for a few moments.

"And it affected the Founders blood magic ritual?" Hannah asked.

Hermione shook her head in both a response to Hannah's question and to bring herself back. "No, that's unlikely. It probably only affected us… _me_." She looked to Malfoy as if to ask whether he felt any repercussions.

He looked away from her gaze and Hermione felt like crying.

"I hate it when you have silent conversations like that, can you not please explain?"

Hermione looked at Hannah in surprise. She had no idea they did that. Did they really? Hermione almost snorted again.

"I can't hear her thoughts," Malfoy explained for her. Hermione looked at him from the side of her eye. He was being very accommodating and calm for someone who just learned that someone could read their mind.

"And you're okay about this?" Harry asked, as if he had read hers.

"Of course not," Malfoy said curtly. "But what can we do?"

Hermione looked down at her desk. What _could_ they do? It was a stupid error for them to have made. And now she was suffering from it. One stupid mistake and now she had to suffer the rest of her life with _Draco Malfoy_ stuck in her head. Maybe the war wasn't worth surviving anymore.

The room was silent.

Hannah was the first to speak. "Why do you think the chairs are different colours now?" she said, changing the subject.

Hermione was slightly offended that they could change the subject so quickly following such a huge revelation. However, she was pleased at the same time; Hermione needed time to analyse this on her own.

At Hannah's question, Hermione actually smiled. "I guess magic is harder to define as simply Light or Dark anymore, as opposed to during the Founder's time. I suppose we've all got some of each in us, and that's apparent in the colour changes of our chairs."

It was hard for her not steal a glance at Malfoy when she said this. But she was glad she did; he was smiling.

* * *

**A/N:** No, this is real; you are not seeing things. A quick update? From me? I know how ludicrous. But I hope you like it! Chapter 15 is on its way...

_**Holly - xo**_


	15. Chapter 15

Not for the first time in his life, Harry Potter was worried for his friends. Although, this time, they were certainly in a new and unknown territory. He had always known there was more to magic than saying words and waving a wand, but looking at the three other teenagers in the supposedly non-existent room that they had magically appeared into after having performed an ancient and questionable blood ritual, culminating in his best friend having an ex-Death Eater's thoughts in her head – made him really question the depths of their magical knowledge. _What else could they possibly not know?_ The thought made him shiver, and even _he_ had been exposed to many more kinds of magic than the average wizard.

A familiar itch on the back of his neck told Harry that there was something wrong with what was going on. He started to drum his fingers on the armrests of the blindingly golden chair both due to his nerves and his new anxiety from no longer having a wand. Harry had already put his wand arm to his pocket several times in the past ten minutes. Being wandless was something he had definitely not anticipated. The frustration was building steadily.

Harry briefly glanced to the last place he had seen his wand on the armrest of the chair and his chest ached with the loss. Hopefully Professor McGonagall would have answers to their many questions. _Maybe there are clues in here_, Harry thought suddenly and he sat up quickly. He opened the first drawer in the desk but before he could rummage, he was interrupted.

"_Harry!_" Hermione called his name with an emphasis that implied it was not the first time she had.

Harry looked up to see that Hermione, Hannah and Draco were all staring at him.

"Sorry, wha?" Harry said. He closed the drawer slowly and sat up straight, attentively.

"We're discussing what to do next," Hannah answered with a soft smile.

Draco scoffed. "You mean 'listing things we don't understand', because there's a fuck-tonne and it looks like we'll be here all day."

"Oh hush," Hermione said impatiently. "You just want to go back to the dorm and decode that journal you found."

"Can you not do that," Draco replied through gritted teeth.

"Well I can't help it when you think so loudly!"

"It's not–"

"What journal?" Harry spoke over the squabbling duo.

"Draco found Slytherin's journal in his desk," Hermione answered.

"I can speak for my own damn self!" Draco balled his fist on the desk and glared at Hermione.

Harry ignored them both. "What does it say?"

Draco flicked his eyes towards Harry and shrugged. "Lots of things really, but it's a load of crap."

"What? How can you say that?" Harry asked, confused.

"You think Salazar Slytherin would leave his journal in the top drawer of his desk in a shared office?" Draco replied with a sarcastic laugh. "It's either a decoy or heavily encrypted, and I'd quite like to find out sooner rather than later because I'm guessing that the old toad has a lot of answers we need."

Harry glanced between Hannah and Hermione for their reactions. Hannah appeared to be deep in though, but was nodding slightly in agreement. Hermione, on the other hand, was already rifling through her own desk.

With a nod in Draco's direction, Harry stood up. "You start translating and we'll search this entire room for any other Founders items." He paused. "All day if we have to."

…

Hannah didn't realise that night had fallen until she accidentally knocked over a candle with her elbow. She hissed at the contact the hot wax made with her skin.

"Ow," she muttered, and placed the candle upright again.

She blinked at the slight deterioration of light and rubbed her tired eyes with a sigh. Luckily, none of the wax had spilled onto any of the pages Hannah had found, which were now all spread across the desk.

"Any luck?" Hermione called across to her.

Hannah sighed again, as she began to rearrange the pages. "Nope. None at all. Unbelievably, Helga Hufflepuff valued the organisation of student files over the organisation of her personal work." Hannah passed a pile to the other side of the desk. "But I did find some interesting sketches of some kind of goblet, which sounds silly, I know, but the side notes suggested that Helga was planning on combining some kind of healing… Hermione?" When Hannah looked back up, Hermione was staring blankly at something behind Hannah. "What's wrong?"

"Hannah, do you know wandless magic?" Hermione replied slowly, and then looked back at her.

Hannah recoiled in surprise. "Well… I… I was trying to learn a couple of spells but with all the stuff that was going on… I didn't do well in seventh year at all… so er, no, not really. Why?"

Hermione indicated towards the bookcase behind Hannah with a smile. "Because I think you do now."

Hannah turned around warily, but gasped when she did so. In an almost-halo-like formation, several candles were floating in the area around the headrest of the chair. "When I knocked over my candle…" she whispered in awe. "That's brilliant!" Hannah exclaimed, turning back to Hermione, who was grinning back at her.

"Of course!" Draco suddenly said, startling them all.

"What?" Harry asked immediately.

Hermione gasped, looking at Draco. "That _is_ brilliant!"

"Do you want to do the honours?" Draco replied with a smirk.

Hermione responded by waved her hand gently in front of her, with a mirrored smirk of her own.

"Hermione!" Hannah yelped when the room suddenly became engulfed in darkness. Through the now darkened room, Hannah heard Hermione giggle. The candles were relit a second later, revealing triumphant smirks on both Hermione and Draco's faces.

"What? What is it? What was that Hermione? What's going on?" Harry was now standing, with an unmistakable defence stance.

"You could have at least tried something more substantial," Draco said teasingly.

"I just wanted something simple to make sure," Hermione replied.

"So far this mind-reading issue seems to be more irritating for us than you two," Harry interrupted scathingly.

Hannah knew that Hermione purposefully ignored Harry's connotations when she replied cheerily: "The ritual may have lost us our wands, but it appears to have unlocked, in a sense, our core magic at a purer level. We can use wandless and non-verbal magic with ease, and goodness knows what else!"

Hannah's mouth dropped open as Harry fell into his seat.

"See," Hermione continued with another wave of her hand and a silver otter appeared, dancing merrily in the centre of the room.

"Show off," Draco muttered.

To Hannah's disappointment, the ethereal otter disappeared as he spoke, but the look she then saw Hermione give Draco stopped her from voicing her feelings aloud.

A transparent stag interrupted the intense moment Hannah was grateful she was not a part of. _What was _that_ about?_ She wondered, tearing her eyes away from the strange pair.

"Cool," Harry said, grinning.

The news was amazing, extraordinary and completely impossible, yet Hannah still found herself more focused on Draco's expression while he watched the noble stag, and more so Hermione's expression as she watched Draco do so.

Hannah sat back in the chair and sighed. There was a nagging in the back of her mind that reminded her vaguely of the silence of the wind before a storm or even the smell of the air before a torrential rain shower in the summer. Whatever they had thought, the ritual was definitely not the end.

…

Hermione's mind hadn't stopped spinning since she had awoken in the cold corridor now hours ago. It was almost as though she half expected that this was all some sort of hallucination and they would all wake up in the infirmary with a concerned Professor McGonagall hovering over them, telling them that the ritual had saved Hogwarts, but had not affected them at all. _Wishful thinking_, Hermione sighed. Nothing was ever that simple here.

But to top it all off, she had _Draco Malfoy_ stuck in her head. _How utterly and completely insane_. However, the most insane part was that actually, it hadn't actually been terrible so far. Hermione was shocked to find that she and Draco followed similar thought patterns; he mirrored her intellectual opinion on things, which was a surprising breath of fresh air. His scathing comments were irritating enough, but his thoughts in general were witty and clever and Hermione couldn't stop herself from listening in.

Shamefully, and for too long to admit, Hermione had merely pretended to search Rowena Ravenclaw's belongings, and had instead listened to Draco Malfoy translate runes he had found on the inside covers of Slytherin's supposed journal.

_It's just so fascinating seeing how another person works at such an intimate level_, she justified mentally after finally returning to the task at hand. It wasn't the first time that day she thanked Merlin that for some reason it wasn't a two way street. If Malfoy ever heard her admiring his mind in such awe, Hermione would never have lived it down.

It was silly and naïve of her to have forgotten how _smart_ he was. They had always been neck and neck in so many classes, and there was not a spell he hadn't mastered, or a potion he could not brew that Hermione could. _Draco was slightly better at Potions_, she admitted to herself. _Slightly_. Hermione told herself that if it hadn't been for Snape… but that would have been a blatant lie. Draco Malfoy was a brilliant scholar, but still a wanker at that.

That reminder, however, felt like a slap in the face when Hermione heard his reaction after she produced her Patronus. How could she have forgotten about the one spell he was unable to cast? It was almost as though she could feel his despair and longing through his expression alone. Hermione's heart ached for the boy whose life had been ruined through choices he had never been able to make for himself.

It was common knowledge that no matter the level of their use of Dark magic, Death Eaters were unable to cast a Patronus. Hermione could barely believe that _Severus Snape_ had been the exception. But surely _Malfoy_ would be able to in the future, right?

Hermione knew that he knew she had heard him, and that he was purposefully not looking at her, as if to pretend he didn't. To give him credit, Malfoy had reacted to the news better than Hermione had thought; however, the fact that there had been not much of a reaction at all was an issue in itself.

She sighed at the appearance of Harry's stag. Oh, she loved that boy, but sometimes his lack of social understanding really frustrated her. He was improving though, and it's not as if Hermione could have realistically expected Harry to have sympathetic thoughts towards Draco. How could Harry have possibly known that five words would break Hermione's heart? How could he have known that Draco Malfoy was capable of true innocence and conviction?

How could Harry have known that, at the appearance of Hermione's Patronus, there was no scathing comment, no attempt to better her; just a sadness and wonder in his tone when Draco asked himself:

_I wonder what mine is._

…

It was humiliating. Totally and utterly humiliating.

Draco did not need to look at Granger to know that she was looking at him with an expression she reserved for pitiful and broken things. He didn't need to have bloody telepathy or whatever to figure that out.

He had been _so_ sure that his Occlumency skills were great enough to block her out. Or block him out from her. She hadn't reacted to anything else he had thought throughout the day. Not his _true_ thoughts.

Dammit if she had. _I'd hate to see that girl's poker face if she really has been listening to my thoughts all day_, he thought angrily. But Draco was also pleased with his reference. Yes, he knew what poker was, and yes, he was good at it. _See, I can do Muggle references_, Draco thought smugly, but to his dismay, Granger wasn't paying attention.

"What do you think, Draco?"

Draco tore his eyes away and towards the girl who had spoken.

"Is that a joke?" He laughed bitterly when he digested what the Abbott girl had said. She flushed at this.

"You know what she means," Granger bit out. Draco saw her attempt to control her anger before she continued. "We've had enough for the day, don't you think?" Granger said with a sigh.

As if on cue, Draco's stomach rumbled in response. He nodded stiffly. "We've been here, what, twelve hours? With no sleep, not counting the time we were questionably unconscious, and no sustenance since the alcohol we consumed practically two days ago, I'd say it's about fucking time. All in favour?"

"Definitely," Potter replied. "One problem, though: how the hell do we get out of here?"

Draco fought the urge to swear and stamp his foot and instead looked to Granger for an answer. Her similar expression indicated to him that she didn't have a bloody clue either.

What kind of idiot sat in an apparently non-existent room for almost twelve hours and didn't once think of how to get out? The kind of idiots that sit in ancient, magical chairs for hours on end, apparently.

…

"Isn't it obvious?" Hannah said with a sigh. She felt personally affronted by the simultaneous expressions of shock she received from the other three teenagers.

She turned to Draco. "What was Slytherin's role in building the school?" Draco's mouth gaped in confusion. Hannah took that as a cue to continue. "The plans," she said, as though they already knew. "The layout, the escape routes."

Hermione smacked her hand on her forehead. "Of course," she muttered angrily. "What she means is that there is no exit – but you can create one," she said, turning to Draco.

"It can't be as easy as that," he scoffed. Hannah could see his unease, and she had no doubt Hermione could hear it too.

Hermione shrugged. "No harm in trying," she said softly.

Draco sat in the chair, pausing for a moment, before he stood abruptly and walked to the centre of the room. "If you're wrong," he said, turning to Hannah. "I'll look like a complete tosser."

"Oh, because you don't usually?" Harry said, with a laugh.

"Wanker," Draco muttered before he started to wave his hands over thick carpeted centre of the strange office.

There was a moment of collectively held breath before something happened: the floor opened up to reveal a winding staircase with a comforting groan. Hannah saw Draco's shoulders slump with relief. She would deny it until the day she died, but Hannah felt a sudden surge of pride for the lost Slytherin boy.

"Think you could send over some more of those floaty candles?" Draco asked as he peered down into the relatively dark hole.

There were five by his side by the time he looked back up. Hannah smirked as she saw him jump a little.

"Thanks," Draco muttered. He made to step down onto the first step. "I don't know about you lot but I'm fucking starving," he said as Hannah stood and walked up to his side.

"We'll take a detour to the kitchens," she offered. "Then we can go back to the dorm and sleep for a week."

"I support that plan," Draco replied, nodding slightly.

Harry and Hermione appeared behind Hannah.

"What are we waiting for?" Harry asked. "Creator's first," he said with a smirk and a wave of his hand.

Hannah wasn't sure, but she could have sworn she saw Draco gulp before stepping down into the darkness.

…

As it turned out, Draco's creepy staircase come tunnel was more successful than Hermione had originally given him credit for.

The bottom of the spiral staircase revealed the back of a statue no one could determine what of through the gloom.

Hermione laughed when she saw it. "You designed it after the Headmistress's office? Conceited much?"

Draco turned and looked up at her (she was two steps up above him due to the lack of room). "I thought _we_ deserved it initially. But it's also an effective security measure, and hidden in plain sight – what's conceited about efficiency? If it ain't broke," he said and turned around, muttering something to the statue. It began to shift sideways.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut. He was right, but damn did he have to be such an arse about it? She shook her head; of course he did.

The four shuffled out of the narrow space in single file. Hermione turned to see the statue slide back to its place after Harry. She squinted at its unclear form in the dull corridor. She couldn't figure out its shape at all. Hermione sighed. It didn't matter, she'd see it in the morning or whenever she decided to wake from the very long sleep she was planning.

Hannah's sudden exclamation drew her attention.

"Oh!" Hannah cried. "We're outside the dorm!"

Hermione turned around to see that they were in fact outside of the eight year dorm room, directly across from it at that. _Couldn't be arsed walking any further_, she heard Draco think. Hermione smiled and shook her head. When she looked up, Hermione saw Draco smile at her. Maybe it was the darkness or her tired eyes, but she could have sworn she saw a _real_ smile.

"I'll just call on Kreacher," Harry suggested. When no one understood what he was referring to, he continued: "For food?"

Hermione blinked. "Of course, that'll be nice. He'll like that."

She was so tired that she failed to notice when the group had passed through the portrait hole, and suddenly found herself in the eighth year common room, as though her feet had taken her there of their own accord. Taking in the warm colours of the comforting room, the exhaustion hit Hermione all at once.

"I think I'll pass on the food," she managed to say before her eyes started to roll. "Too tired." Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper as she pushed past a concerned-looking Harry and headed towards the dorm.

The only thing Hermione remembered after that was the brief relief of the soft bed in the darkened room before she fell into the deepest sleep she could ever recount having in her life.

* * *

**A/N:** "On it's way" my arse. As an apology... I'm uploading three chapters at the same time! This time I actually swear the next few are on their way.

Chastise me by reviewing, eh eh.

_**Holly - xo **_


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione woke to voices. At first, she thought they were just part of her dream, until she realised that she hadn't actually dreamt at all that night.

"You do it."

"Why can't you do it?!"

"She's liked you longer; she can't get as mad at you."

There was a pause.

"Do you think I'll need to cast a _Rennervate_?"

Hermione opened her eyes at that point. "Most certainly not," she croaked as she began to sit up.

Failing to hide her surprise entirely, Hermione raised her eyebrows at the sight of Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini standing at the foot of her recently repaired four-poster bed, both looking rather wary.

"Can I help you with something?" she continued, curiously.

Both boys gaped a little at her before Blaise found his voice first. "Professor McGonagall sent us to wake you," he said.

Hermione's attention was caught immediately. She stiffened and started to climb out of bed.

"She's waiting for you down in the common room," Neville expanded.

Standing with as much grace as a newly awakened person could muster, Hermione nodded at the two boys. "Thank you for letting me know." She began to make her way towards the door, but Neville's hand on her arm stopped her.

"You'll probably er… want to change first," he said, with a nervous smile. He dropped his hand quickly at her expression.

Hermione frowned in confusion and looked down at herself. _Dear lord_, she thought, barely containing a gasp. _I'm still wearing my gown!_ Her cheeks began to flush as she imagined the assumptions Neville and Blaise must have made.

And sure enough, Blaise, the utter wanker, was smirking knowingly at her. Of course, he didn't know where she had actually been, and unfortunately, Hermione had no other choice than to let him believe that. It painfully vexed her not to defend herself.

There had been no explicit rule that they weren't to tell anyone about their 'Founders situation', but there was an unspoken agreement between the four of them that they would not share their secret. Well, with the exception of Ron and Ginny.

"I know it's normal to stay out all night for a party, but _two_? Damn, Granger, I didn't know you had it in you." Blaise then had the audacity to wink at her.

Hermione took three deep breaths to curb her anger. "As Neville so helpfully pointed out," she said through her teeth. "I have to change."

Neville nodded, looking as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but in that room. "Come on," he muttered to Blaise, before slipping past Hermione with a small nod.

When Blaise briefly paused in the doorway before following Neville, Hermione stared him down. She was definitely not in the mood for whatever he was going to say and she wasn't particularly in the mood for him at all, really.

"Don't think I didn't notice that Draco was gone, too," Blaise finally said, his face unreadable.

Hermione didn't give him the satisfaction of her reaction as, with the help of her new magical abilities, she swung the door shut on him so forcefully that Hannah's recently repaired mirror fell off the wall and shattered onto the floor.

"_Fucking hell_!" she heard him exclaim from outside the door.

"Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out," Hermione muttered with a smile on her face. She took a second of grim satisfaction before she started to panic-dress. _Professor McGonagall_ was waiting on her.

…

"Ah, Miss Granger."

Hermione slowed at the bottom of the steps. Not only was Professor McGonagall standing in the eighth year common room, Harry, Draco and Hannah were also there, although seated, but she should have realistically expected that.

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione said politely as she walked over and perched on the plush couch next to Harry. He smiled.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Did no one tell you how long you were sleeping for?"

Hermione's heart started to race. "No?" she said, confused.

"We performed the ritual on Sunday night, as you well know, but it is now Tuesday afternoon."

Hermione blanched. Why had she been the only one to sleep so late? She glared at Harry, who shrugged in response. She didn't like to think that they had all been waiting on her sleep to progress.

"I know this is conspicuous," Professor McGonagall continued. "However, it was essential that I check how you were all doing. I came as soon as I heard you were all back in the dorm." She smiled at the four of them kindly.

Hermione's heart warmed. It was easy to forget the compassion of teachers, and it was nice to see that at least one still cared for the personal welfare of their students.

"We're doing fine, Professor," Harry said. He briefly glanced at Hermione and she immediately cast a quick _Muffliato_, which now felt strange to do wandless. "We're actually more than fine…" he continued. "The ritual took our wands, but we can now use wandless and non-verbal magic."

Hermione saw Professor McGonagall stiffen.

"I expected something of the sort," she finally said. "It was unclear, but the journals hinted towards the Founders using copious amounts of wandless magic." The concern on Professor McGonagall's face was very clear. "But all four of you are unharmed? Apart from the wandless magic, there are no after-effects?"

The pleading expression on her face caused Hermione to consider telling their headmistress about her and Draco's telepathy fiasco. However, as she opened her mouth to reply, Draco interrupted her thoughts with a sharp: _Don't_.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the first word he had spoken to her that day. He was sitting in the armchair furthest from her, in a very laidback manner, but his facial expression did not match his body language. Draco's eyes were wide and he shook his head slightly when she met his gaze.

_She just feels guilty because she thought we had died. She treated us as though we were sacrificial lambs,_ Draco thought bluntly. Hermione put her hand over her eyes. What else could Professor McGonagall have thought after they disappeared from existence for a whole day? Draco had a point, but that didn't mean that their headmistress still didn't _care_.

"We are perfectly fine," Hermione answered with what she hoped was a genuine smile. Enough time had passed between their Professor's question and Hermione's answer for it to look suspicious. Hermione hoped Professor McGonagall trusted them enough not to press the matter any further. "In fact," Hermione continued in an effort to divert the conversation. "Would it be alright if I had a look at those journals, too, Professor?"

Hermione was disappointed in herself that she hadn't asked for Rowena Ravenclaw's journals sooner. No doubt they were the relicts which held the answers they needed.

Professor McGonagall was frowning at the four students seated in front of her, but she relented and replied in a kind and understanding tone. "Of course, Miss Granger, I suppose they'll be of more use to yourselves. You shall find them in your dorm by the end of the day."

"Thank you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall seemed to hover for a moment; as if she was going to say something but changed her mind. Hermione was silently begging that she wouldn't ask them any more questions.

Luck appeared to be on their side, as Professor McGonagall simply nodded at them and made a move to leave.

"I am truly relieved to hear that you all came through unscathed. But also, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that Hogwarts appears to be back to normal and functioning better than ever." She smiled at the four teenagers in turn.

"We are definitely pleased to hear that," Hermione replied, beaming.

It was brilliant news to hear. But they shouldn't have expected the worst – nothing, except for the unexpected telepathy – had gone wrong. It was wonderful to think that Hogwarts was at its full magical peak again. Although, Hermione did wonder what kind of changes there would be.

Professor McGonagall seemed to read her mind, as she then said: "I have not had a chance to see the entire castle as of yet, unfortunately, but I'm not expecting there to be anything untoward."

"We'll let you know if we see anything different," Harry said helpfully, earning a side-glance from Hermione. What did he mean by that? Did he expect there to be difficulties somewhere?

Professor McGonagall nodded at his words. "If you are all _completely_ certain you are unaffected, I shall leave you to it." She gave them one last stern look as if to dare tell her otherwise. "Hogwarts will be indebted to you eternally as will I." She turned to leave but paused near to the portrait hole. "I will have decoy wands made for you all. I can assume you don't want it to be general knowledge that you no longer require wands to perform magic?" At their silence, she gave them one last smile and walked out of the portrait hole. It swung shut behind her softly.

"Why didn't you tell her about your mind-reading thing?" Hannah asked immediately, in an accusatory tone.

Hermione couldn't find the words quick enough and Draco answered on her behalf.

"We do not need to be poked and prodded at and tested for something we can handle on our own," he said.

"Plus," Hermione quickly interjected, giving Draco a quick glance. "I don't think this is permanent."

Draco sat up in his seat at this. "What do you mean?" he asked impatiently.

"Well, this happened because we performed a blood ritual after your blood somehow made it into my bloodstream, yes? Depending on the quantity, blood usually recycles itself every couple of days, but that may take longer with magical blood. So I assume that this will disappear when that happens and it'll be out of my system."

"What if it doesn't? Disappear, that is," Harry asked.

Hermione's heart sank. "Then we'll deal with that when it comes." She looked at Draco, who was strangely quiet.

"Well, the Occlumency has been working so far, so it shouldn't be an issue," he said after a moment.

"Has it?" Hermione asked in surprise. He had been using his Occlumency skills to keep her out? She hadn't noticed that he had.

"It hasn't?" Draco countered, equally as surprised.

"Not that I had, um, noticed…" Hermione began to stutter. She obviously didn't want him to know how much she had listened to, but nor did she want him wasting his time using Occlumency on her constantly.

_Have you heard all of my thoughts since yesterday?_ Hermione suddenly heard Draco ask, accusingly.

She flinched, but gave him a non-committal shrug. How was she supposed to know what she hadn't heard?

"Well," Harry interrupted, suddenly standing. "If we're back onto this silent conversations shit, then I'm out of here. Some of us have actual jobs to go to."

Hannah frowned. "How are you going to explain performing magic without a wand until Professor McGonagall gets the decoys?"

Harry shrugged. "Avoid doing actual work, I guess."

Hermione tried not to laugh when she saw Draco roll his eyes.

"I'll say hi to Ron for you. And by the way," Harry said, with a smirk on his face. "We can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts now."

And with that shocking revelation, he disappeared in a blink of an eye. Hermione was shocked to note that there was no characteristic _crack!_.

"Fucking idiot to try it in the first place," Draco muttered as he shifted in the aubergine coloured armchair, not appearing surprised in the slightest.

Hermione's shock dissipated and her intellectual curiosity kicked in. "It may actually transcend the Apparition magic as we know it…" she muttered to herself. "Warding maybe… As our magic is technically part of Hogwarts now…"

"That was Rowena Ravenclaw's duty to Hogwarts," Hannah interjected.

Hermione looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Like Slytherin controlled the exits and floor plans, Ravenclaw created and controlled the wards," Hannah explained. She spoke as though either Hermione or Draco should have already known this information.

Draco's shrug supported Hermione's confusion.

"Godric Gryffindor was in charge of the building and defence of the school and grounds, and Helga Hufflepuff was in charge of the necessities like the kitchens and living spaces, and anything else that was alive, really. Have you never heard this before?" Hannah appeared to be just as bewildered as Hermione and Draco.

"How do you know this?" Hermione asked, almost incredulously. She'd certainly never read anything that hinted towards any of those positions. Although, in all honesty, Hermione hadn't read much on the Founding Four – what was there to know? She was beginning to immensely regret that decision.

Hannah shrugged. "My dad used to tell me stories. He's a historian in the Ministry."

"Think you can get us anything useful?"

"Maybe," Hannah said thoughtfully. "I'll ask anyway."

Hermione smiled in thanks. They needed all the information they could get. She was already itching to read what Rowena Ravenclaw had personally written all those years ago. But in the meantime… what could they do in the meantime?

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked, almost in horror.

"Well, classes don't start till tomorrow… so nothing I guess," Hannah replied gleefully.

Hermione did not reciprocate Hannah's cheerfulness.

Draco laughed curtly. "Bet that'll kill you, Granger." _Whereas, I am perfectly happy just to sit here all day_, he thought with a smirk on his face.

Hermione scowled. "You certainly look it," she replied harshly.

"Jeez," Hannah said with a surprising roll of her eyes. "That silent conversation shit really is going to be annoying, isn't it?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at her just as Hannah began to giggle. "Come on, let's go eat. I'm starving!" she continued in a completely different tone.

Hermione's stomach rumbled in response. "Is it lunch or dinner?" she asked warily as they stood up.

"Get a bloody watch, Granger," Draco said as he strode past them.

"Aren't you joining us?" Hannah called after him, teasingly.

He responded by raising his left hand and giving them a rude hand gesture as he stepped through the portrait hole.

"Really!" Hermione admonished, but she couldn't keep the smile from her face.

…


	17. Chapter 17

Harry returned to the Ministry with a smile on his face. He had Apparated directly into a broom cupboard down the hall from the main Auror office. Unable to hear anyone passing, Harry opened the door and strode out into the corridor.

He hadn't meant to Apparate directly into Hogwarts. He hadn't even meant to Apparate _out _in the first place. They'd been sitting around a lovely three-tiered afternoon tea array of snacks that Kreacher had happily provided them with in the early hours of the morning, when Harry had an intense desire to go home after he'd sufficiently stuffed his face. He, like Hermione, was barely able to keep his eyes open after their intense twenty-four hours, which was only magnified after filling his stomach.

"I think I should be heading home," Harry had mumbled.

Malfoy, who was staring blankly at the roaring fire, grunted in response; Hannah had since long passed out on the couch, cucumber sandwich still in hand.

Harry, with some difficulty, pulled himself out of the armchair he had fallen into. He swayed on the spot for a moment.

"Woah," he whispered and blinked rapidly.

Later, he realised that he had obviously not been sound of mind when, after a momentary blackout, Harry had recounted the three D's for Apparition, and had shockingly and stupidly reappeared in the kitchen of The Burrow.

The next thing that Harry had remembered was waking up spread-eagle across the Weasley's worn mint green couch. It wasn't until he had corrected his askew glasses that he saw the feline Patronus waiting to deliver its message.

Harry had Apparated into Hogwarts' Entrance Hall minutes later, freshly washed and changed. Missing his strange appearance by mere seconds, Professor McGonagall descended the granite steps and escorted Harry back up to the eighth year tower, accompanied by some idle chit-chat.

He hadn't had a chance to fully appreciate the tower the night/morning before, and Harry found himself gaping at the sheer opulence of the new common room. _Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to come back after all_, he jokingly thought as Hannah and Malfoy entered the common room from the dormitories. Hermione appeared ten minutes later.

He didn't know why he hadn't told the headmistress about his new ability. Perhaps it was the fact that it clearly superseded the headteacher's usual ability to detect that kind of magic in Hogwarts, or perhaps it had been because Harry didn't understand it at all yet. He had a feeling that he should at least tell Hermione first. It was all very strange, and he needed some time to clear his mind.

Harry had never been fond of Apparition at all, but this new kind felt different. It felt as though he was gliding from one place to another rather than being forced. Whatever was happening, despite its questionable appearance, Harry was happy that it was.

"What you lookin' so cheerful for?"

Harry whirled around easily on the frequently buffed Ministry floor to see a lanky and red-haired familiar silhouette walking towards him.

"How could you tell I was cheerful from behind?" Harry asked his best friend teasingly.

Ron shrugged. "You were strutting again."

"I do not _strut_!"

With a roll of his eyes, Ron said, "Sure."

Harry huffed as they began to walk down the corridor towards the Auror office. It wasn't for another ten steps or so before Ron gave him a strange look.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, confused.

Ron jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Minister's office is that way."

Harry skidded to a stop. "Kingsley wants to see me?"

"Oh did I not tell you?" Ron replied with fake concern, a smirk building on his face.

"You complete wanker!" Harry exclaimed as he wheeled around and started to run in the opposite direction.

"He asked to see you half an hour ago!" Ron yelled after him, the laughter in his voice unmistakable.

Harry swore under his breath as he pushed through the crowd building at the lift. Disgruntled voices followed him.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled as he elbowed a purple-haired wizard to get into the lift. "Level One, please," he said aloud.

Harry was still grumbling as the gates on the lift closed, and he shot backwards and upwards, deeper into the Ministry. What could Kingsley possibly want to see him for? Whatever it was, it caused a knot to form in Harry's stomach. In his experience, one-to-one meetings were never good.

…

Hermione found it very strange to be sitting and eating at another House table, in fact, she felt intensely uncomfortable. Even though the Hufflepuff table was mere feet from where she would have usually sat, it somehow felt like a different world.

Although, it did made her feel better that Ginny and Neville had both also jumped ship. The two Gryffindors in question were sitting across from her; and Hannah was on her left. Hermione knew that she was being irrational as no one really sat according to House anymore, but she couldn't help but feel a little out of place.

Hermione had been mortified to find out that it was dinner being served. She had never slept away an entire day in her life! Although she had been pleased to see that they had made her favourite dish: steak pie and chips.

A tug on her robes caused Hermione to immediately whip her hand to her wand pocket. She slowly lowered her arm as she saw that it was only a first year girl. Ginny giggled and Hermione shot her a dirty look.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Can I help you?" she asked kindly.

As term hadn't officially started yet, no one was wearing school robes, therefore Hermione couldn't tell which house the young girl belonged to. She was, however, wearing Muggle clothes, and she was also a pretty little thing, Hermione noticed; with heavy and long dark hair, and eyes that Hermione couldn't quite place where she thought she'd seen before.

"Are… are you Hermione Granger?" the girl asked quietly.

"That's me," Hermione replied with a smile.

The girl looked across the hall to the Slytherin table and pointed to the top end. "The pretty boy sent me over to talk to you."

Hermione unfortunately knew to whom she was referring before she followed the girl's direction. Hermione sighed. Trust Blaise to divert a curious child straight to her instead of handling it himself.

"Why did he send you over to me?" Hermione asked gently.

The girl shrugged. "The other kids in my House said to tell one of the older kids what I told them, and he was just sitting there. Then when I told him he pointed to you and said, 'That's Hermione Granger and she knows all about that stuff'."

Hermione nodded. While there was no more acknowledged House divide between the tables, most of the Slytherins still sat at their table, mainly out of stubbornness but also because the older kids had grown up with rivalries that weren't going anywhere anytime soon. Well, what of the little that had returned at all.

"What was it that you told them?" Hermione asked, now curious.

The girl rocked back on her heels. "That I'm a Muggle-Born," she replied with a smile.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "And you're in Slytherin?"

"Is that not okay?" the girl flinched away at Hermione's shock.

Ginny covered her incredulous "Bah!" with an unconvincing cough.

Hermione shook her head as though she had been in a daze. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder in an effort to reassure her.

"No of course not, it's just… very unusual," Hermione said, with an attempt at a smile. "What's your name?"

"Diana Black," the little girl recited proudly.

Hermione dropped her hand from the girl's shoulder as if it had been on fire. She immediately began to scan the Slytherin table for a familiar blond head.

When she spotted him, he raised his head slowly as though he could feel Hermione's eyes on him. _Do we have a problem?_ Draco asked as he registered Hermione's shocked expression.

Hermione just nodded at him. She turned her attention back to the girl in front of her as she saw Draco immediately stand and begin to make his way out of the hall.

"We're going to talk to a friend of mine, if that's okay?" Hermione smiled at Diana as she pulled herself away from the Hufflepuff table.

"Hermione, you can't surely think–" but the rest of Ginny's words were cut off as Hermione escorted Diana away.

But Hermione knew that what she thought was completely right, and that Draco would agree. Diana's grey, oval eyes had been recognisable because Hermione had seen them in the faces of several people she'd known well over the past few years. She'd even been tortured by one of them.

Somehow, _impossibly_, Hogwarts had uncovered a Muggle-Born that belonged to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black; a family that had supposedly become extinct by name with Sirius Black almost four years previous.

Hermione maintained a blank expression as she walked out of the Great Hall with a cautious hand perched on Diana's shoulder. Draco was waiting beside the doors and he was beside Hermione in a flash.

"She's a Black," Hermione said before he could ask. "And a Muggle-Born. And in Slytherin."

She saw Draco take a step back in bewilderment. _That's impossible and you're crazy, you know that, right?_, he thought unconvincingly. He gave Hermione a curious look before he knelt down to look closer at Diana, who looked up at Hermione with a worried expression.

"It's alright," Hermione said, and smiled at her reassuringly. "Her face is like your mother's," she continued, speaking to Draco.

He nodded absentmindedly at her. "And her eyes," he said in an almost whisper. Draco stood up quickly. "What do we do?" he said this with clear concern. _She won't make it to the end of the year._

Hermione looked down at Diana and stroked her hair. Diana smiled warily up at her. Hermione turned to Draco with a determined look on her face.

"_Toujours pur_," she said stiffly.

Draco replied with a stiff nod of his own. Hermione knew that their telepathy was only one way, but in moments like those, it was almost as though he could read her mind too.

…

Harry knocked on the Minister for Magic's office door three times.

"Enter!"

Harry walked into the office and closed the door softly behind him. "Kin- Minister," Harry corrected himself with a respectful nod towards the man sitting behind the wide and dark glass desk.

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively and let out a short laugh. "Don't try to pretend you hold nothing but disregard for this position, Harry." He gestured for Harry to take a seat.

Harry lowered himself into the brown suede armchair. "I respect a position of power when the person who holds it, deserves it. Minister," he added hastily.

Kingsley sat back in his chair and clasped his hands high on his stomach. His expression was unreadable and Harry was beginning to sweat under his gaze.

Then, to Harry's intense relief, Kingsley smiled. "I'm just an interim Minister, Harry. We'll see who the public thinks deserves it in the vote next month."

"Of course they'll vote for you! Who wouldn't?"

Kingsley smiled almost sadly. "Well, at least it's reassuring that I have at least one definite vote." He laughed sharply. "But that's not why I called you here," he continued in a sudden solemn tone.

Harry sat up in his chair. "What's going on?"

"We're sending you and Mr Weasley out on your first field mission tomorrow."

Harry's heart lifted but his stomach sank. "What is it?" he asked immediately. He and Ron had been dying to get out and do physical Auror work, as, unsurprisingly, neither of them were particularly good at paperwork.

Kingsley sat up and leaned forward. "We are led to believe that there is a cave full of Inferi on the Cornish coast." He nodded in Harry's direction. Harry felt as though he had been punched in the gut. "And we would like you two to be on the clean-up team, as you appear to have some history with the place."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to prickle. "I do, yes," he said emotionlessly.

Kingsley nodded. "You'll be leading them in. Be here eight am sharp."

"We'll be there, Minister," Harry replied with a stiff nod.

…

"You can go back to the feast now, Diana," Hermione said, smiling.

"Is that it?" Diana asked. "There's no problem?"

"No of course not," Hermione lied. She watched as Diana then ran off back into the Great Hall.

"What the _actual fuck_?" Draco exclaimed as soon as the eleven-year old was out of earshot.

Hermione rubbed her hands over her face with a sigh. "I know," she said.

"But… but _how_?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'd blame Sirius but her age is impossible for it to have been him."

"It's impossible as it is! We have to ask her about her family, well, the ones she knows." Draco had one hand in his hair and seemed stressed about the situation.

Hermione nodded. "I'll do that. Tomorrow, maybe," she suggested. "It is kind of possible when you think about how many family members the Blacks have disowned over the years."

"Yeah… I suppose…" Draco sighed. "But how does she have the _name_?" He paused. "I should write to my mother about this, shouldn't I?"

"I, er, well…" Hermione was caught off guard. Hewas asking for her advice?

"Who knows what family secrets she may have, and even not… she could easily find out," Draco continued.

Hermione found herself nodding along. "Yes, sounds like a good idea."

A group of rowdy fourth year Gryffindors suddenly exited the Great Hall, and startled Hermione and Draco – who were both half hidden in the shadow of the tall door. The feast must have been coming to an end. They briefly glanced at each other as though just realising where they were.

_Well, if this isn't weird and awkward_, Draco's mental voice spoke over Hermione's many worrying ones.

"Yes, um, good night, I suppose," Hermione said.

"Ditto," Draco mumbled as he eyed another group of students leave the hall.

They both made identical moves towards the stairs before they realised they were going to the same place.

"Oh," Hermione muttered, a blush creeping up her neck.

Draco sighed and motioned for her to leave first. Hermione stepped past him as quickly as she could manage. She didn't really expect for him to walk with her, but when she heard the soft footfalls beside her, Hermione smiled.

"We're going to be sick of the fucking sight of one another," Draco said after a few moments.

Hermione laughed, and they walked the rest of the way up to the sixth floor in companionable silence.

…

"Ron! RON!" Harry ran through the crowd to catch up with his best friend.

It was finishing time at the Ministry and the many employed witches and wizards were filing out of the Atrium. Harry had known that Ron would have been at the Floo; there had been no excuse not to connect the Weasley home directly to the Ministry any longer, as there were now five members of the family, including Harry, working for the Ministry.

Ron, who had one foot in one of the Floo fireplaces, whirled on the spot to see his friend running towards him through the Atrium. He stepped aside to let the witch behind him go ahead of him, but accidentally dropped his Floo Powder down her back in his haste to get to Harry.

"What? What's going on? Did something happen? Who's hurt?"

Harry panted from the exertion. "Field mission. Tomorrow. Voldemort's cave. Inferi."

Ron blinked at him, staring blanking. After a tense moment, he sighed and took a step back. "Well, fuck," he said bluntly.

Harry nodded. He couldn't have put it better himself. "But there's something else," he said warily.

Ron gave him a deadpan stare. "Of course there is. There's always something else!"

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. He glanced around him. "But not here. Let's go home and I'll explain there."

"Founders?"

Harry confirmed Ron's query by taking his elbow and leading him back towards the Floo.

"Well, shit. Hermione's okay right?"

"What, yeah of course, it's nothing like that," Harry immediately replied.

Hermione better have been right about her and Malfoy's telepathy only being temporary because Harry did not want to be anywhere near Ron when he found out. He wasn't stupid; he'd leave that disaster for Hermione to explain.

"Why the panic then? Jeez, way to stress a guy out."

Harry managed a bitter smile before grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. "The Burrow!" he yelled, and spun away into the green flames away from his friend.

…

They were outside the portrait hole when Hermione saw something move out of the corner of her eye. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains and something in the corridor had glinted in the lingering rays.

Hermione gasped when she turned around. In the darkness of the previous night and oblivion earlier that afternoon, Hermione hadn't noticed the entrance to the Founder's study. However, in the direct orange light of the setting sun, the statue was now not only visible… but _shining_.

_It's onyx_, she heard Draco say, but Hermione didn't turn around.

She moved closer to the brilliant visage and put her hand on the semi-precious stone. It was cold to the touch, but it didn't come close to the warmth that was spreading through her chest.

Draco had created the most beautiful statue that Hermione had ever seen in her life: it was a montage of an eagle, a lion, a badger and a snake made out of the black, glimmering stone. But it wasn't just the thoughtfulness and pure creativity that Hermione admired about it – it was the liveliness each animal seemed to possess. It even looked like they were moving…

Hermione wheeled around to face him. Draco seemed wary, as though waiting for a different reaction. Then, before she could think, Hermione threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest, giving him the tightest hug he'd probably had in his life.

"It's wonderful," she whispered, barely able to breathe.

His quickened heartbeat was loud in Hermione's ear. Even though it was probably only two seconds, the time it took Draco to wrap his own arms around her felt like an eternity. His touch was light, but sure.

Hermione closed her eyes.

_You're welcome_.

The words floated into her mind so gently, Hermione wasn't sure that he had said them at all.

She sighed, and that's when he stiffened. Slowly, but deliberately, Draco removed his own hands and detached Hermione's from around his waist. She felt like she couldn't breathe again when he stood there, staring at her silently. Hermione couldn't even hear what he was thinking; and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Then, with no warning, Draco broke their intense eye contact and walked straight past Hermione. She followed his movements without saying a word. Hermione watched his retreating back down the corridor until he turned a corner and was out of sight.

As soon as he was gone, Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and pulled her hands close to her chest. Whatever she had expected to happen that night – it had definitely not been that. But then again, she was learning that hard way to expect the unexpected.

The sun had finally set behind the mountains and the corridor was now a cold, inky blue of twilight. Unable to look back at the statue, Hermione shivered and walked through the portrait hole.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she failed to notice that she no longer needed the password to enter.

…


	18. Chapter 18

_Wednesday 4__th__ September, 1998_

_12.10pm, Eighth Year Common Room_

It was a beautiful day. The sun was beating down on the castle and there was a light-hearted feel among the students that only came with the presence of the extra rays. Yet, Hermione chose to spend her free period curled up on a sofa in the common room, a blanket strewn over her lap, her new replica wand balanced on her knee, and reading Rowena Ravenclaw's journal.

Professor McGonagall had been true to her word, as, Hermione had returned to her room after dinner to find a package on her bed containing two utterly _ancient_ journals and her new fake wand. Well, her new _new_ wand; her original vinewood had been lost at Malfoy Manor and as using Bellatrix's wand was clearly not an option, Hermione had gotten a new one from Ollivander in May.

She hadn't the energy left in her to start reading the journals that night and so left it until after her first two classes of the year. Hermione had been surprised to find herself settle back into the classroom routine so quickly. It was like putting on an old pair of boots; comfy and reliable. Although, while the rest of her classmates had spent the morning classes itching to get outside, Hermione had been itching to get back to her dormitory and read a terribly old book.

After discovering that the common room was entirely empty, Hermione had decided to read on one of the plush two-seaters facing the windows. Although, the view of the mountain range was greatly ignored as she immediately became entirely immersed in the writings of one of the Founding Four.

It was where Hermione still was an hour later when the couch suddenly jostled as someone sat down next to her. Hermione jumped and fumbled with the journal as it almost flew out of her hands in her surprise. Her heart rate didn't slow when she saw who it was.

"Anything we need to know?" Draco asked, inclining his head towards the journal.

Hermione fumbled for another few moments, straightening herself out. She tried to inconspicuously rearrange her legs so they weren't so close to Draco; as, at that moment, she could feel the heat of his thigh through both his own trousers and her blanket and it was causing a strange swooping sensation to happen in her stomach.

"Well, uh, not really." Hermione cleared her throat as she finally moved away from his touch. "I've identified where Professor McGonagall discovered the ritual and why it was necessary, but most of the rest of the writing is completely illegible. There are plenty protection and anti-aging spells on it, but even they've started to wear off due to the age of it. I thought that my magic might work on restoring it, as it's the most similar, but nothing!"

Draco nodded in understanding. "So we're fucked, really."

Hermione shrugged. "I've still the other one to read or decipher, depending on how well it's aged. This one was mostly the trial and error stage before they discovered the blood ritual. So hopefully the other journal will be the aftermath."

"Or not," Draco replied.

Hermione understood; she also hoped that there was no aftermath at all. As, she herself had been turning each page with trepidation, worrying that there would suddenly be something that said they were all going to suffer terribly. Hermione nodded and turned the journal over in her hands.

"It's strange," she said quietly. "It's almost as though I can _feel_ the magic."

"No, I can too." Hermione looked up at Draco in surprise. "In Charms earlier it was like I could feel every spell being cast, as if it was me casting it, and as if it was coursing through me at the same time. I don't know how to describe it," he continued.

But Hermione did understand. She had been feeling rather oversensitive to magic and when she'd tried to cast the restoration spells on the journal, it had almost given her a migraine to do so. However, she wasn't feeling it as much as Draco seemed to be.

"I can feel it on the snake's journal, too," Draco said, not waiting for Hermione to reply. He held up an ancient book, similar to the one in Hermione's hands.

"How are you getting on with that?" Hermione asked quickly, having entirely forgotten about Salazar Slytherin's questionable journal.

Draco screwed up his face. "It's a bastard, but I think I'm getting somewhere. I have the same problem with the magic being unresponsive."

"Well, we'll just have to keep at it. I mean, these are two of the Founding Four's personal journals! Even if we didn't have a personal investment in whatever they say, they would still be amazing to read. We literally have magical history in our hands!" Hermione's enthusiastic smile fell as she saw Draco's expression. "What?" she asked, a flush blossoming on her cheeks.

"You can't hear me anymore, can you?" he said after a moment.

"Oh." Hermione slumped back into her seat. It hadn't even occurred to her that she hadn't heard a single one of his thoughts since he had sat down. "I guess I was right," she finally said.

"Yeah," Draco replied with a small smile. He stared out of the window.

Hermione stared at his sharp profile for a few moments. "Are…" she bit her lip as he turned to hear her question. "Are you… disappointed?" she asked warily.

Draco snorted. "Of course I'm not fucking disappointed that you're out of my head," he burst out. Hermione flinched. "But…" he said with an abrupt change of tone. "It wasn't entirely unpleasant having someone… someone who I didn't have to explain myself to all the time." He said the last part quietly and pointedly didn't look at Hermione as he did so.

The swooping sensation in her stomach returned. Hermione stared at Draco with her mouth agape. "Draco…" she whispered.

He turned to face her slowly, and Hermione's breath caught as they made eye contact. She had never seen an expression on his face like it, nor had she experienced such an intense gaze in her life. What was this? What was she feeling? What…

But then, suddenly, their moment was broken at the appearance of a glowing, transparent stag leaping through the window in front of them. Hermione physically jumped away from Draco and swung her legs off the couch.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Something's wrong," she said, more to herself than Draco.

The Patronus then began to speak in Harry's voice: "_Regulus Black is alive. Get to Grimmauld Place as quick as you can_."

The ethereal stag then disappeared before their eyes, leaving behind an imprint on their eyes. But it was a few moments before Hermione reacted to what Patronus-Harry had said. Hermione stood up quickly, her blanket, journal and wand falling to the floor.

"Hermione!" Draco exclaimed as she began to Apparate.

She vaguely felt a hand on her wrist as she Disapparated into the darkness and towards the unknown.

…

_Same day, _

_7.04am, the Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole_

The next morning arrived far quicker than Harry would have liked. After staying up late explaining the ritual and his new magical prowess, he and Ron had woken up in similar bad moods: neither of them coped well with lack of sleep.

They grunted at each other in greeting when Ron entered the kitchen at seven o'clock. Harry was already sitting at the table inspecting his new wand. An owl pecking at his bedroom window had woken him up twenty minutes before his alarm. Professor McGonagall hadn't included a note in the parcel – she didn't need one. Harry didn't need to hear her say that she was worried for them, because it had been written all over her face.

Professor McGonagall didn't like asking things of her students or putting them in compromising positions. Harry knew it was something she would never have done in any other situation and if it weren't for what had happened the year before and what she had seen her students do, Harry was sure Professor McGonagall simply wouldn't have asked them at all. Hogwarts was her life, but she would rather give that up than any of her students.

_She's not Dumbledore_, Harry thought before he could stop himself. He immediately felt overwhelmed by guilt and pushed his bowl of porridge away. He didn't feel hungry anymore.

"That the new fake one?" Ron asked, pulling a chair out and sitting across from Harry. He quickly began to eat the fry-up Mrs Weasley put down in front of him. "Thanks," he mumbled, his mouth already full of food.

Harry glanced at Mrs Weasley and then back at Ron. Mrs Weasley was literally the last person on earth he would want knowing about what they had done. He didn't need to imagine what she'd say; he'd had the brunt of plenty of her safety lectures over the years.

"Fake what?" she asked immediately. Harry suppressed a groan and glared at Ron, who shrugged.

"Glasses," Harry replied quickly. Mrs Weasley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I've, er, been seeing a Healer who's been improving my eyesight and they managed to fix one eye. So I got a fake lens put in."

Mrs Weasley frowned. It was well known that Harry was an awful liar, but he hoped that she wouldn't be able to imagine anything of the magnitude of the situation they were currently in.

"Huh," she finally said. "Sounds like St Mungo's is making progress… good… that's very good." Mrs Weasley nodded then turned back around to the sink.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and turned to face Ron – who was now beet red in the face, in an effort to contain his laughter. Harry rolled his eyes and, just by a flick of his hand, upturned Ron's half-empty plate of food onto his lap.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed, standing up. There was now grease and sauce dripping down his jeans.

"Ronald!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "How could you be so clumsy? I'll get this, you hurry up and change. You don't want to be late today."

This time it was Harry who was trying to contain his laughter. Especially when he saw Ron's rage filled expression.

"Yeah, Ron, how clumsy of you," Harry tried to say in a straight voice.

Ron's indignant stomps were heard all the way up to the top floor.

…

Harry didn't tell Ron that he could now Apparate anywhere without detection for the same reason he hadn't told Professor McGonagall: it was too much of a big deal. Plus, Harry knew that Ron would just persistently ask him to take him places, which would just piss Harry off. Therefore, they Flooed into the Ministry as normal, and headed straight to the Auror office.

Kingsley was waiting for them in the main centre of the offices when they arrived. Harry's step faltered as soon as he saw him. Surely the Minister of Magic wasn't coming with them?

"You're not coming with us are you, Kingsley?" Ron blurted out with a laugh.

Harry jabbed his friend in the side with his elbow as Kingsley raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, the arrogance of youth," Kingsley replied humorously. "But no, I shall not be joining you, much to your relief I see. I'm simply here to debrief the mission because of the direct connection to Voldemort."

Harry and Ron both nodded silently at this. There wasn't much left to destroy of Voldemort's. When they had started, Harry and Ron had mainly been used as information mules so that the other Aurors could clean up the Dark Lord's messes. Therefore, a lot had been resolved fairly quickly.

"You'll be accompanied by two other Aurors, Wilkes and Bellamy, and a specialised curse-breaker from Gringotts called Patricia Terrier," Kingsley immediately began to explain. "You two shall be Apparating the other three to the exterior of the cave by side-along and enter through there. Patricia has her own separate instructions, so you don't need to worry about her. You four shall just be focused on destroying the either active or inactive Inferi. Clear?"

"Clear," Harry and Ron repeated simultaneously.

Kingsley nodded. "You can leave as soon as the others get here. Be safe," he said, and then suddenly walked away.

As soon as Kingsley was out of sight, Ron let out a low whistle. "I have a feeling that he's just put us as leads of this mission," he said with a curious expression.

Harry ruffled the back of his hair nervously. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled as he saw the other three members of their team enter from the other side of the room. He gulped as they approached, clearly keen to learn about what they were going to be doing.

It was going to be a long day.

…

Half an hour, a rough introduction and an iffy briefing later, the strange team of five were precariously stood along a ridge outside a gaping dark cave. Harry had Apparated the whole team to the spot after Ron had reminded him that he'd never actually been to the cave. If it hadn't been for Harry's new magical skills, he would never have managed the load, but no one questioned it, or his silent appearance.

Taking a deep breath and in complete awe at how he could possibly be back, Harry stepped down off the ridge and began to walk into the mouth of the cave.

"It's just through here," he called back to the others.

Approaching the stone wall with caution, Harry was eager to enter without the rest of the team catching up with him; the less people that saw him perform magic the better. He drew a finger along his left hand, the skin opening as he did so. He carefully ran it along the wall.

"Wow, that'll be a hard curse to break down," a voice at his shoulder said.

Harry stepped back in surprise as the stone began to break apart, and he saw Patricia Terrier standing next to him. Subtly, Harry moved his left hand behind his back as he began to silently heal it.

He had been pleasantly surprised by Patricia: Harry had been expecting an older, professional woman who wouldn't have the time of day for him, but he had gotten the opposite. A short, bubbly blonde who was only a few years older than Harry had definitely been a surprise. Her loud and honest personality had reminded Harry of Tonks, which caused his heart to ache a little whenever he heard Patricia talk, but his first impression was good nonetheless.

But suddenly, the entire stone wall started to disintegrate and before Harry could cast a _Protego_, the stone turned to dust and a ghostly wail echoed through the cavern as Lord Voldemort's entrance mechanism broke apart in front of their eyes.

The dust rained upon them like a tsunami wave, and Harry covered his face with his arm in an effort to protect himself. When the dust settled Harry immediately began a headcount.

"Everyone okay?" he yelled. His echo replied first.

Various coughing was heard throughout the cave, and then choruses of "Yeah," and "We're fine," followed. Harry nodded and looked towards the now demolished wall.

"Looks like the barriers are weakened because the creator is dead… interesting. But seems like I don't have much of a job to do then," Patricia joked, now a ghostly white as she was completely covered in the dust from head to toe.

Harry gave her a forlorn look. "'Fraid not," he said, and stepped through the immense gap.

His heart was racing. He knew that the wall hadn't collapsed because Voldemort was dead. After Harry's experience with Quirrell and Voldemort in his first and fifth years, he knew that Voldemort couldn't handle any kind of magical purity – physical or mental. Therefore, Harry's new limitless and pure Gryffindor magic didn't stand a chance against a nasty blood sacrifice spell.

Stepping into the thick darkness, Harry immediately cast a _Lumos Maxima_. The dank cave immediately brightened as the miniature sun floated up to the centre of the concave ceiling. It cast eerie shadows on the huge stalactites and Harry looked away immediately. He could barely even look at the glowing green island in the centre. Harry was grateful he wouldn't have to go back out there.

Walking straight to the water's edge, Harry tried to remember where Dumbledore had stood when he had summoned the boat to shore. Reaching out a tentative hand, Harry was surprised to immediately grab a cold chain. He pulled, and the small boat began to float towards him.

"Patricia, Ron, you two to the island. That's what else you're supposed to break down right?" Harry asked the tiny blonde at his shoulder.

She nodded. "Something about an enchanted basin and a potion?"

"Tear it apart," Harry replied venomously.

Patricia gave him a funny look at his tone, but nodded regardless. "Come on, lanky," she said to Ron. "In the creepy boat of death we go."

Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry as he walked past, but the amusement on his face was unmistakeable. Harry was glad at least someone was having a good time.

Harry turned to Wilkes and Bellamy, who were waiting expectantly for instruction. He didn't quite know what to make of the two older Aurors. They couldn't have been more than five years older than Harry, but they had survived the war unscathed so Harry gave the vacant looks on their faces the benefit of the doubt.

"We'll wait till they're on the island before we go anywhere near the water."

Wilkes and Bellamy nodded in understanding, and returned to peering around the cave cautiously.

About a minute later, Harry turned to see Patricia standing on the island, giving him a big thumbs up. Ron towered over her, and Harry saw him wave in acknowledgement that they were good to go. Patricia then began to work quickly.

"Right," Harry said, turning back to the other two. "I'll touch the water and see if the Inferi are still active or whatever. If they are, attack with fire. If not, we drain the lake and burn everything."

"Merlin, I hate Inferi," Harry heard Wilkes mumble as they moved to flank him.

Harry nodded. "Got previous experience?"

Wilkes visibly shuddered. "One of my first memories was during the first war when Voldemort was a big fan of using Inferi. Attacked my dad's company with a horde of them. The bastard also liked to cast everlasting spells on the bodies so they wouldn't decay and make it easier for people to recognise ones they knew." Wilkes paused and looked into the murky green water. "There's likely one on this lake, too."

Harry was frozen to the spot. Wilkes was right – the Inferi he had encountered two years previous had still looked like recently dead bodied despite having been there for almost twenty years. Surely it wasn't possible… He'd be mad…

Abruptly standing, Harry turned to face Wilkes. "Are you sure? There's definitely a protection spell on the _lake_?"

Wilkes looked surprised but nodded. "If that's where they stay then it's on the lake and not the bodies."

"Change of plan," Harry said quickly. "This is now a rescue mission."

"Wait _what_?" Bellamy exclaimed.

Harry ignored him and began to walk closer to the lake. "Dumbledore destroyed most of them, but burn the shit out of the ones that do come up."

"What the fuck are you going to do?" Bellamy exclaimed.

Harry dipped his foot into the water and immediately heard splashing echo around the cave. "I'm going in," he said, and waded out into the dark waters.

"_What the fuck are you doing_?" Wilkes screamed from behind him.

At this, Ron suddenly shouted: "Harry!"

Harry saw the Inferi rise out of the water in front of him and begin to move towards the shore behind. He took a deep breath and dove under the water. He had better be bloody right about this.

Casting another _Lumos Maxima_ under the water, Harry found himself regretting the ability to suddenly see through the dark water. He cast a bubble-head charm straight after it. As most of the active Inferi had been attracted to the two men at the shore where the disturbance had occurred, Harry was faced with all of the bodies Dumbledore had destroyed.

Corpses with the flesh burnt off to the bone floated past him as Harry swam deeper. _Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? _Harry began to search the lakebed furiously. He could see vague flashes of orange light above him and he smiled: at least they'd listened when he'd said use fire.

Then, suddenly, a silver flash below him caught his eye. Thanks to the light-show above, the familiar house crest embossed on a cloak fastener had reflected and attracted Harry's attention to the body he had been looking for.

Pushing himself further down in to the water, Harry barely grasped onto the arm of the young man and began to tug with all his strength. After breaking the body free from the reeds, Harry began to swim to the surface with all his might.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry finally broke through the surface and took a gulp of air as he cast a _Finite_ regarding his bubble-head charm. Harry kept the body below the water as he swam towards the island, away from the flaming Inferi on the other shore. Harry knew as soon as the body surfaced, the charm would wear off, and he needed all the time he could get.

"Harry! Harry what in the ruddy hell were you thinking… wait… is that… _oh fuck, Harry_!" Ron immediately halted in his approach to assist his friend out of the water.

Patricia instead ran forward and grasped the sopping robes on Harry's arm. "You are more insane than I've heard and that's saying something," she said as Harry fully emerged from the water.

He ignored both of them as he quickly turned to pull the body out of the water by the shoulders. Neither Ron nor Patricia moved to help him. Now Harry definitely didn't have much time. He flipped the body over and began resuscitation immediately.

"Oh fucking hell," Ron mumbled weakly.

Harry pumped the body's chest fifteen times, and then blew breath into his mouth. _Live! Fucking live, _he thought to himself. Then, through his desperation and anger Harry began to summon electricity in his hands. He shot it into the chest of the body during his compressions.

The body jerked at the contact, rising off the ground where it convulsed. Harry continued to pump its chest until, to all of their surprise; the body was no longer a body as the person it belonged to rolled on his side and began to cough up the lake water.

Harry sat back on his heels and looked up at Ron with wide eyes. After twenty years both missing and dead, Regulus Black was alive.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh my gooooooooood. Even I'm like bloody hell and I wrote it! I hope you enjoy this and the next chapter. To commemorate the eighteenth anniversary today I thought it would be nice to upload this chapter where someone actually comes back.

Please review!

_**Holly - xo **_


	19. Chapter 19

_12.16pm, 12 Grimmauld Place, London_

As Hermione Apparated into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place, an extra weight crashed into her back, causing her to fall to the floor with an _oomph_.

"Draco! How dare you tag along my Apparition like that!" Hermione tried to turn to face her Apparition-crasher, but struggled under his weight.

"Stop squirming!" Draco replied. "I think one of my shirt buttons is caught in your bloody hair."

Hermione tried to pull away from him and yelled in pain. "Ow! Just fix it then!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do?"

Hermione huffed and relaxed her head back down onto the floor. She was too annoyed to notice that her face was awfully close to Draco's. She watched as he tried to disentangle pieces of her hair from one of the buttons on his shirt at his chest.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

Both Hermione and Draco tried to jump apart at the startling interruption, but pieces of her hair were still attached to him and she cried out instead. Hermione tilted her head back to see an upside down vision of her angry boyfriend.

"Ron!" she squeaked.

Hermione looked back up at Draco; who was straddling her, with his hands on his shirt buttons. No bloody wonder Ron looked fuming. Hermione gulped before waving her hand, causing Draco's shirt to disappear entirely, disentangling her hair immediately.

Simultaneous shouts of: "GRANGER!" and "HERMIONE!" followed.

Hermione pushed a stunned and annoyed looking Draco off her and sat up. "Oh really!" she exclaimed, pointing at Ron and standing up. "You really can be stupid sometimes!"

She brushed herself down as Mrs Black began screaming from behind her curtains.

"FILTH. IN MY HOME. BESMIRCHING THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF–"

"What are you on about?" Ron shouted over Mrs Black's screeching.

"MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS AMUCK. MY FATHER IS ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE. MY SONS. OH, THE BETRAYAL. HOW–"

"Never–" Hermione began to shout back. But instead she threw an arm towards the noisy portrait and a bolt of fire shot from her fingertips and onto the curtains and painting, silencing dear old Walburga Black forever. Hermione sighed in satisfaction. "I've wanted to do that for years," she said with a smile on her face.

Both Ron and Draco were staring at her with a little bit of fear in their eyes.

"Why's ferret-face here?" Ron finally said.

Hermione shot Draco a dirty look. "He jumped onto my Apparition."

Draco raised his hands in surrender. "He's my cousin, if you didn't know."

"He's your _mother's_ cousin that you've never met in your life," Hermione rolled her eyes. She turned back to Ron. "Speaking of _he_… where is he?"

Ron nodded upstairs. "We thought his old room would be best."

Hermione nodded and pushed past him before he could say anything else, leaving the two bemused boys alone with the burning portrait as she climbed the staircase.

…

Draco definitely wished that he hadn't grabbed Hermione as she had Disapparated. Especially now that he was standing shirtless in a creepy hall with Weasley of all people; who was failing miserably to not stare at his Dark Mark.

Draco rolled his eyes as Weasley coughed to break the silence.

"I er… I have a spare shirt upstairs if you want?" Weasley surprised Draco by suggesting helping him.

Draco shuffled his feet and considered going cold just to spite him, but the goose-bumps on his arms thought otherwise. "Uh, yeah, sure," he grunted.

"Kitchen's through there," Weasley said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Booze is in the top cupboard at the end." Then he left and stomped up the stairs.

Draco perked up at the mention of alcohol because hell did he not need it in the situation he was in. Giving the creepy, smoking portrait a wide berth, Draco made his way towards where Weasley had pointed.

Lighting all the candles in the room with a flick of his hand, Draco walked around the long wooden table to the top cupboard on the end. He was very pleased to find a three-quarters full bottle of Firewhiskey behind other bottles of mead and wine. Without bothering to find or even summon a glass, Draco sat down at the end of the table, put his feet up on it and uncorked the bottle, taking a hearty swig.

Weasley returned on the third swig. He threw a long-sleeved, burgundy t-shirt at Draco's face when he reached the end of the table. Sitting down without a word, Weasley pulled out his wand and summoned two glasses from somewhere behind Draco, who put his feet back on the floor as he caught the shirt.

"Thanks," Draco mumbled as he shrugged the shirt on. Burgundy was a little too close to red for his liking, but he wasn't going to offend Weasley in this situation: Draco didn't have a clue what was going on and it wasn't smart to insult the people who did.

Weasley grunted and took a long drink from the measure he had poured into his glass. Draco reached out and took the other glass and filled it halfway. They sat in silence, drinking away, before either of them said a word.

"Harry's getting a bollocking off Kingsley for this," Weasley said. Draco raised his eyebrows. "For going off mission," Weasley continued. "For abandoning his team, going solo and for being accused of necromancy."

Draco spluttered. "Necromancy?" he choked.

Weasley shrugged. "What would you think if someone resurrected someone who's been dead for twenty years?"

Draco let out a long breath. "How the fuck did he manage that?"

"From what I gathered from his ramblings, apparently there was an everlasting spell put on the lake to keep the Inferi from rotting." He screwed up his face in disgust. "So when Regulus drowned, he was immediately frozen because of the protection spell on the water for the Inferi. Then when Harry pulled him out, it was only as though he'd been dead seconds so Harry was able to revive him."

Draco nodded vaguely as he remembered something about a lake when Hermione had explained the Horcruxes. He shook his head in astonishment. "He's mental."

Weasley nodded. "That's what I said. How he even thought about it fucking amazes me."

"He's Potter."

Weasley let out a dry laugh. "That's the realest thing I've heard all day."

Draco was very relieved that Hermione could no longer hear his thoughts because if she'd heard him think that Weasley was actually pretty alright, she would never have let him forget it.

"A Healer from St Mungo's has already been and gone. Said we've performed a miracle, left a couple of potions and said she might be back next week to check on him," Weasley continued.

"So it's going to be public knowledge?" Draco asked as he took another drink.

Weasley shrugged. "Seems like it. It'll be up to Kingsley though."

Draco took another drink and was silent for a moment. "You think it's safe?" he said, flicking his eyes to the ceiling.

Weasley appeared shocked at Draco's concern and raised his eyebrows. "Healer said he should be unconscious for a while longer. And besides, you think Hermione wouldn't be able to take him?"

Draco snorted. "I know _Hermione_ would be safe. I was talking about the blood purist Death Eater up there."

Weasley's eyes widened in realisation and horror. "Should we?" he asked warily, gesturing upstairs.

Considering it for a moment, Draco shook his head with a smirk on his face. "Nah," he said. "I think the little bastard deserves whatever he gets."

…

Hermione paused before knocking. She was suddenly nervous. Why the hell was she there? She'd never even met him. Why did she care? Her heart was racing. Despite the fact that Regulus Black had tried to stop Voldemort, he had still been a Death Eater.

Taking a deep breath and telling herself to stop being so silly, Hermione opened the door and walked into the dark room softly. She turned and closed the door as quietly as she could. The bed stuck out from the wall on her left, and the green and silver was prominent even through the gloom.

There were two candles lit on either side of the bed, so Hermione could make out the still figure lying on the bed. She fought the urge to shiver. It was almost as though he was dead. As Hermione approached, she realised that she had been holding her breath.

She put her hand on the green, silk sheets as she stared at the sleeping person. If it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he really would have looked dead. Pale and still, Hermione wanted nothing than to restore him to his full health.

Hermione sat slowly on the bed, so that she was almost touching his hip. It was true what they had said: Regulus was every bit as handsome as his brother. Even more so that he still had his youth. Although, there was a stray piece of hair on his face that Hermione was dying to fix.

As she reached across him and tucked the wayward strand behind his ear, a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist. Hermione bit down a scream as she looked down into the now open grey eyes.

"Who are you?" Regulus croaked.

Very aware of her chest pressed into his and how close they were, Hermione whispered: "I'm Hermione."

Regulus let go of her wrist and smirked weakly. "Daughter of Helen of Troy, named for the Greek messenger god, Hermes. What message do you have for me, beautiful?"

Hermione sat back in shock. He seemed… completely unaffected.

"Do you… do you remember what happened?" she probed.

Regulus froze. "How am I here?" he asked as he took in his surroundings. "Where are my parents? Why are you in my house?" Regulus suddenly seized. "The Dark Lord," he hissed. "Does he know?" he asked Hermione in a panicked tone.

Hermione reached out for his hand and was surprised when he let her hold it. "The Dark Lord is dead," she said.

Regulus stared at her for a moment before laughing roughly. "No way!" he exclaimed. "It worked?"

"You helped," Hermione replied honestly.

Regulus continued to grin gleefully. "The Dark Lord… gone… How?"

Hermione flinched. "That's a very long story. I have something else to tell you first."

"My parents are dead, aren't they?"

Deciding not to cushion the blow, Hermione immediately replied. "Yes," she said, gripping his hand tighter.

"How long have I been… out?" he asked after a moment.

"It's been nineteen years…" Hermione said slowly. "It's now nineteen ninety-eight," Hermione replied.

Regulus flinched at this and closed his eyes. "Fucking hell. Am I dead?" he whispered.

"You were," Hermione said, unable to prevent the emotion from making her voice crack. "We… we revived you when the cave was cleared. We're so sorry we couldn't do it sooner." Hermione then surprised them both by crying. "You deserved so much better," she wailed.

This time it was Regulus who squeezed her hand. Hermione saw him try to sit up through her bleary eyes and tried to motion for him not to, but he ignored her. Regulus didn't move any closer to her, but he didn't seem repulsed by her either. He sat flush against the headrest and stroked the hand he was holding.

"I don't care how long it took, Hermione, I shall be eternally grateful that I'm here at all during a time that the Dark Lord no longer lives."

Hermione hiccupped and tried to smile. "It's really Harry you have to thank."

"Harry who?"

"Potter."

Regulus stared at her blankly. He sighed. "I owe my life to the offspring of James fucking Potter." He shook his head. "How much does my brother love that?" he asked with a smile.

Hermione choked. She couldn't do this. She couldn't tell this poor boy that almost everyone he knew is dead. Why had she come in here? Why?

Regulus' face dropped as he saw her expression. "No." he said. He tore his hand away from hers. "Who else?" he hissed.

"I…"

"WHO ELSE?"

Hermione flinched and took a shaky breath. "James Potter, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadows, Mad-Eye Moody, Barty Crouch, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Ted Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Albus Dumbledore… I don't know who else! I don't know!" At some point Hermione had started to cry again.

Regulus' expression broke Hermione's heart.

"Even Dumbledore?" he asked.

Hermione sniffed and nodded. "Snape."

Regulus' eyes bulged at this. "_Sev_ killed _Dumbledore_?" he asked incredulously.

"He asked him to so that Draco Malfoy wouldn't have to."

"Lucius is still creeping about then?"

Hermione smiled at this. "And so is Narcissa."

Regulus nodded and smiled. "Good… that's good," he said. "I guess their kid is as much of a shit as them?"

Thinking of the half-naked boy she had left downstairs with her boyfriend, Hermione giggled, startling Regulus. "He most definitely is."

"I'm glad some things haven't changed," he replied with a smile.

Hermione reached out for his hand again to find that he was reaching for hers, too.

"Tell me about my brother, Hermione."

She froze at this. "Another time, please," she said.

"Is it that bad?"

Hermione shook her head. "All of this is a lot for you to take in, and I think you should hear the whole story before I tell you any parts of the end."

"So it was recent?" Regulus probed.

"Fairly," Hermione replied.

Regulus nodded to himself vaguely.

Hermione suddenly made a move to leave, but Regulus pulled her hand tighter. "You should rest," she said firmly.

"How can I sleep with all of this information swimming around my head?" he scoffed.

Hermione smiled sadly and reached to cup his cheek with her left hand, and as she did so he caught a glimpse of the scar on her arm. Hermione quickly and silently cast a sleeping charm.

His eyes widened and he stared at her accusingly. "You're… you're a… who…" Regulus' eyes then rolled into the back of his head and he fell asleep.

Hermione moved him into a more comfortable position, pulled the blanket up and kissed his forehead.

"Hopefully you won't care about that when you hear the whole story," she whispered.

Hermione managed to hold in her tears until she was outside the room. As soon as she closed the door, she slid down into a sitting position and held her hand over her mouth as she began to sob silently.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry was exhausted. He stank of lake water and his stomach was growling furiously. After having spent the past two hours being subjected to an intensely irate Minister of Magic, all Harry wanted to do was lie down and stuff his face; and hopefully at the same time.

Apparating into the kitchen directly from the Ministry's halls had been a good idea at the time, however, when Harry suddenly and silently appeared into Grimmauld Place's kitchen, he was met by the smashing of glass and an almost inhuman squeal of surprise.

Harry sighed when he saw Ron and Malfoy sitting, apparently drunk, at his kitchen table. The three eighteen year olds stared at each other for a few moments; all pretending not to have noticed which of them had made the humiliating sound.

_But was it even still _his_ kitchen anymore?_ Harry pondered. He shook the thought away for the moment. He'd have plenty time to worry about that later.

Lacking the energy to make a proper meal, Harry summoned some crackers and cheese, and an extra glass while making his way to the other end of the table. No one spoke until he sat down next to Ron (who had subtly repaired his glass and refilled it) and grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey, emptying the last of it into the mismatched third glass.

"Update?" Harry asked.

"Hermione's upstairs," Ron replied, inclining his head in the general direction of the stairway.

Harry nodded and took a sip of his drink. He'd known that would be Hermione's priority; it's why he'd asked her to come – that and the fact that she would probably know more about what to do than they would. Why Malfoy was there, Harry didn't even want to know, but he guessed that she had brought him along.

His brain was too fried to even think. Kingsley had lectured him for almost two hours, going round and round in circles simultaneously amazed at what Harry had managed to do and furious that he had done it on Ministry time.

They sat in silence for a while. None of them were good at small talk. Hermione was the only one who could have saved the strange trio from their own awkwardness. Harry saw Ron glance at the empty doorway desperately several times out of the corner of his eye.

Malfoy coughed and downed the dregs of his drink. "So, necromancy, Potter… that's new."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Malfoy's apparent attempt at humour. He shrugged. "I've done everything else already; it's about time I got a new hobby."

Ron snorted into his glass. Malfoy nodded as though it were plausible.

"Although," Harry held his finger up. "I have technically done that already." At the blank faces, he explained. "When I raised myself from the dead during the battle?"

This time Malfoy snorted. Ron stared at Harry in horror. "You weren't really dead were you?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Yes and no, I think."

Malfoy shook his head. "You're unreal."

"It gave me another scar, too."

"Fuck off! Let's see!" Ron slammed his now empty glass down on the table and immediately began prodding at Harry.

Harry smacked Ron's wandering hands away and reluctantly pulled down his shirt collar to reveal a misshapen welted star, about an inch in size, in the centre of his chest.

Ron gave out a low whistle.

"Thanks for the nightmares, Potter," Malfoy replied, and attempted to take a drink out of his empty glass. He, too, slammed it back on the table. "We're out," he said, holding up the empty bottle of Firewhiskey. However, his statement went ignored at the sound of someone entering the room.

"Well _you're_ cut off, regardless," Hermione suddenly interjected. She walked the length of the room to join them. She sat next to Malfoy.

Harry bit back a laugh at the pout on Malfoy's face.

"You're no fun," Malfoy said to Hermione.

"It's the middle of the school day, Draco," she replied with an exasperated sigh.

Harry laughed and missed Hermione's hand move. His glass flew across the table and into her hand before he could blink, and before Harry could protest, the liquid disappeared down her throat just as quickly.

Malfoy audibly hissed. "Hypocrite."

Hermione shrugged. "I needed it," she said tightly.

"He awake then?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "He did wake, yes. But he's asleep again. You'll have to _finite_ that later."

Harry wondered what had warranted that. "Did you tell him?" he asked.

"I did. He's acting strangely normal… We're going to have to keep a close eye on him." Hermione frowned.

Harry's chest seized in worry. He was amazed that he had technically brought Regulus Black back from the dead, but what the ruddy hell was he going to do with him? What did Regulus _want _to do? Was he going to cause them even more trouble?

"What are you gonna do about this place?" Ron interjected.

Harry shrugged. "Regulus can have everything for all I care. He's probably the only person who wants it."

Hermione let out a surprising laugh. "He wasn't pleased to discover that he owes his new life to James Potter's son," she said in response to their curious looks.

Harry smiled at that. "Sirius would have loved that."

The silence which followed was thick and filled the room.

"I told him," Hermione said after a moment. "That's why I put him to sleep."

Harry nodded in understanding. To be quite honest, he had secretly hoped that someone else would tell Regulus about that and everything else before Harry would've had to. Although, he wished that Hermione hadn't done it alone.

Before he could ask if she was alright, Harry saw Hermione nodding in response to something Malfoy had said in her ear. Harry frowned. He knew that Malfoy and Hermione were sort of on good terms but their already odd relationship seemed to be getting weirder and weirder.

If Malfoy had an agenda regarding Hermione, Harry would murder the snake without a second thought. _There may need to be a certain conversation about that_, he thought as he watched them.

"Are you not going back to work?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm on probation for a couple of days and both of us have been told to guard Regulus until we figure out what to do with him."

Ron laughed at this. "I don't mind if this is what I get to do all day!" He lifted his empty glass in the air.

Malfoy looked ready to toast him, but Harry saw Hermione grab his wrist.

"Speaking of," she said, with a glare towards Malfoy. "We've got class to get back to."

"It's our lunch break!" Malfoy pouted again and Harry did not fight the urge to laugh this time.

"Lunch is well over, Draco," Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes. She stood and attempted to drag Malfoy up with her. "Did you tell McGonagall?" she asked Harry as Malfoy staggered to his feet.

Harry met her gaze with wide eyes: he hadn't. Hermione waved her hand in a dismissive manner.

"Don't worry. I'll stop there on the way to taking this drunken fool for a Sober-Up Potion."

"Thanks, Hermione."

The pair walked over to the fireplace and stepped inside. Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder and Malfoy's arm simultaneously.

"I'll see you later," she said, with a smile.

Ron gaped at her, clearly not getting the goodbye he had hoped for.

"Bye, Hermione," Harry said. He raised his hand in goodbye.

"Hogwarts Headmistress's office!" she cried, and was gone in a whoosh of green flames.

Ron immediately turned to Harry and shook the empty Firewhiskey bottle. "We're all out," he repeated, as though it was the biggest tragedy that'd ever happened.

Harry stared at him. He sure wasn't one to judge relationships, but Ron and Hermione's relationship often didn't seem any more different than when they'd been just friends. But neither of them seemed to notice or care, therefore Harry ignored it. He really wasn't one to give relationship advice.

"Come on," Harry said, standing up. "Let's go wake Sleeping Beauty."

Ron looked stricken at that, but followed suite. "I'm sure he's a good looking guy… but I wouldn't go that far… I mean, yeah Sirius was handsome or whatever but I wouldn't say _beauty_…"

Harry sighed. "Muggle fairytale, Ron."

"Oh, thank Merlin."

…

Hermione and Draco stumbled onto their Headmistress's hearth with the dignity of a newborn giraffe.

Professor McGonagall was visibly shocked at their appearance. She jumped in her new desk chair and clasped her hand over her chest.

"Miss Granger! Mr Malfoy! I didn't even realise you'd left the castle!"

Hermione pulled Draco beside her and tried to inconspicuously hold him upright. He technically wasn't that drunk, but she still worried that he would try to say something while they were in the company of their head teacher.

"Yes, well, there's been a bit of a situation, you see."

"What happened?" Professor McGonagall replied immediately.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. "May we sit?"

…

Professor McGonagall had sped out of her office to see Kingsley almost as soon as Hermione had finished explaining. The Headmistress had been so shocked, that she had failed to notice Draco's suspicious silence and slumped frame, much to Hermione's relief.

"I need to go see my mother," Draco said as the door clicked shut behind Professor McGonagall.

Hermione was taken aback. "Sorry, what… _why_?"

"She should be involved in this. Plus I have to ask her about Diana."

Hermione blinked. To be entirely honest, she was surprised that he had remembered about the girl at all, never mind her name.

"Something strange is going on, don't you think?" Draco continued.

Hermione was still caught up on his sudden sobriety to understand the question properly.

"Don't you feel it?" he probed.

She let out a whoosh of breath. "I don't know what you mean," Hermione replied honestly.

"With the Blacks," Draco frowned. "The reappearance of two members of a previously dead name is no coincidence."

"We don't even know if Diana is a magical Black, though," Hermione countered. She didn't understand what Draco was getting at. "It's a pretty common Muggle name."

"Oh, she definitely is. I can _feel_ it. There is something about this… bloody buggering _something_!" He stood up, startling Hermione. "I have to go see my mother," he repeated. Then, in a blink of an eye, Draco was gone.

Hermione stared at the spot he had disappeared from for a minute or so. She looked at her watch. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. They had missed her afternoon classes after all. Hermione briefly wondered if it was too early for her to go to bed. It had been a bloody long enough day already.

With a sigh and a brief dusting of her clothes, Hermione stood and exited the office, closing the door softly behind her.

…

Draco Apparated into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor.

"Mother?" he called tentatively. An echo of himself replied in the vast marble hall.

A shiver came over him. Draco had never realised how cold the Manor was. But he supposed that was especially noticeable now that only one person lived in it.

"Nally!" he called.

Draco's elf appeared with a crack directly in front of him.

"Master is home during school!" Nally cried, almost panic-stricken.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm allowed to be. Where's my mother?"

Nally bowed her head low. "Mistress is in the rose garden, Master Draco."

However, before she could offer to take him directly there, Draco Apparated, leaving behind a very shocked house-elf, clutching her hands tightly together.

…

Master Draco was different and Nally could feel it. She could sense the magic that Master had left behind in the room. As a boy, Master Draco's magic had felt like a winter's breeze by the ocean and peppermint; it was cold and sharp, but refreshing. It did not frighten Nally.

But now, Master Draco's magic felt more like a burn Nally would sometimes get from the pots in the kitchens. It also reminded her of the way the sun would often blind her as it set across the grounds in the evenings. It was warm and comforting, but also very dangerous.

Master had Apparated _inside_ the Malfoy house. Only elves could do that. Nally shook her head; no, that wasn't Apparation. It was no normal wizard magic. She could feel the difference in the magic. It felt older… _purer_.

Nally unwound her hands. She _knew_ Master Draco, and his magic was still good even if it was different. Nally knew something about the change would mean good things, and she also knew that whatever it was, all the Malfoys would benefit from it – even the elves.

…

"Mother?" Draco called again when he appeared in the rear section of Malfoy Manor's grounds.

It was an overcast day, but Draco knew that his mother preferred gardening in the cooler temperatures. She wasn't suited well for the heat.

"Draco?"

When the familiar voice spoke, Draco whipped around so quickly that he strained his neck in the process. Narcissa Malfoy was standing next to a raised dais of pink and white roses, wearing an almost blinding white dress and the sorts of shoes Draco knew nothing about, but certainly knew that they were not suited for gardening.

"Mother," he repeated, this time in greeting. Draco kissed her on the cheek gently. She smelled like lavender.

"While it's lovely to see you…" she began, the smile slipping from her face. "What's wrong?"

"I have to ask you something," Draco said. He gestured to the tea table and chairs next to them. "Shall I order some tea?"

Narcissa sat in one of the chairs, a stony expression building. "I'm going to assume that the topic of conversation we shall be having may also require some gin."

Draco nodded. He summoned Nally again and ordered a high tea with a bottle of gin. The Firewhiskey's effects had diminished, but even Draco knew that it was too soon for him to be drinking again.

_Aw fuck it_, he thought, as the tiered trays and cups and saucers appeared along with a bottle of gin on the table in front of them.

…

Hannah had been in the Founders office for hours, although, it had taken her a while to actually get in. Why Draco had put a bloody password on an already hidden entrance had irritated Hannah all night. Stupid Slytherin logic. As Hannah had discovered earlier, the other students could not see the brilliant statue that Draco had created.

She had finally bypassed it by Apparating directly into the office, frustrated that she hadn't thought of it sooner. Hannah hadn't passed her Apparition test, but even she knew that their new transporting ability was no longer Apparition. It felt more like… _sliding_ into the new location. It was a strange sensation, but Hannah certainly liked it better than the suffocating feeling during Apparition.

Her first day back in classes hadn't been so bad, but they hadn't been good either. Hannah had dreaded going back and humiliating herself with how little she remembered, but it seemed as though everyone was in the same boat; they were all dealing with their own problems and it had crossed over into their schoolwork.

A seventh year Ravenclaw boy had point blank refused to enter the Charms classroom, as he still had nightmares from being trapped in there during the battle with Antonin Dolohov, before being saved by Bill Weasley. Hannah had been tempted to offer to remove the memory for him, but after a few minutes and a calming potion, he'd tentatively joined in at the back of the room.

It physically pained Hannah to see people suffering from trauma like that. Surely Hogwarts should be providing help for the many students who were still hurting? The memory of Helga Hufflepuff's notes on the special cup she had designed niggled in the back of Hannah's mind throughout the day.

Therefore, as soon as the last bell rang, Hannah made her way speedily to the Founder's office on the sixth floor. She especially wanted to get there quickly as she didn't want any of her other eighth year peers seeing her attempt to enter, especially as the first fifteen minutes prevailed.

During her two hour search, Hannah had discovered most of the papers regarding the cup amongst Helga's paper mayhem. She was ready to leave when a name on another piece of parchment caught Hannah's eye.

_\- Meetings: 1pm: Stellan Black_

"Black?" Hannah said aloud in disbelief. She had known that the family was old but _that_ old? Surely not. Were they as old as the Founders themselves? Perhaps older? Even the Malfoys weren't _that_ old.

That particular piece of parchment was very coloured due to its age, so it was difficult for Hannah to read the note Helga had scribbled underneath. She attempted to clear it with a couple of spells, until it finally said:

_ Wizard blacksmith, claims to be working with a goblin… possible answer?_

Hannah gasped and held her hand over her mouth. Helga Hufflepuff had sought the combination of wizard _and_ goblin magic to create her cup? Is that what this note meant? Hannah could feel the excitement building inside of her so she began to pace around the circular staircase, deep in thought.

Helga Hufflepuff had been searching for a way to create a cup with magical properties in order to miraculously heal people… and goblin materials and creations were the best… but would never be properly melded with wizard's magic as it would have to be done in the process… something which the goblins would never have agreed to… and still wouldn't… therefore Helga had found a wizard blacksmith and a compliant goblin to create it… allowing the two magicks to combine properly…

Hannah stopped pacing. She twirled a ringlet of her hair around her finger. If this was true… Hannah had discovered a way to make something that would entirely change the wizarding world. She began to grin widely.

The smile quickly slid from her face. But there was no proof that Helga had actually succeeded… plus Hannah only had the step-by-step guide, there were impossible pieces to acquire before she could even think to attempt it.

With a defeated sigh, Hannah returned to the desk. She knew she could never create it, but there was no harm in collecting all the relevant papers…

…

Harry and Ron were standing over an unconscious Regulus, cautiously watching the sleeping Death Eater.

"Any chance you want to do it?" Harry muttered hopefully.

"I don't even wanna be in here, mate."

Harry nodded. He didn't want to be in there either, but this was his responsibility. With a deep sigh, Harry waved his hand over Regulus' chest and cast a silent _Rennervate_.

The effect was immediate. As Regulus' eyes snapped open, both Harry and Ron took simultaneous steps backwards.

"Hermione?" Regulus gasped. He looked round and saw Harry and Ron staring at him. "Where's Hermione?"

At this Ron started forward and Harry grabbed his arm. "What do you want to know for?" Ron demanded.

Regulus simply looked Ron up and down, and then turned to Harry. "Well clearly you're the Harry Potter who saved my life," he said.

Harry stiffened and let go of Ron's arm. "I am."

"Thank you," Regulus said. "I'll be honest and say that I did not like your father as a boy, but I don't intend to carry on that dislike."

Harry's stomach dropped to his feet at the thought of telling Regulus everything that had happened. Not sure how to respond, Harry blinked at him a couple of times. "Thanks," he finally said. "You hungry?" he asked after a moment.

Regulus nodded. "I could eat. Is Kreacher still around?"

Harry smacked his hand against his forehead and Ron swore.

"He's going to bloody hysterical when we tell him," Ron said.

Harry frowned. "Maybe we should wait until later to summon him. We have a few things to sort out first."

"He's alive but not in the house?" Regulus asked as he climbed out of the bed.

Harry took another step back as Regulus stood. The younger Black was taller than his brother, and Harry at that. The overall visage was rather menacing.

"He's been working at Hogwarts," Harry replied. "There was no one for him to work for here."

Regulus frowned. "But Hermione said that Sirius only died recently… was he not in the house while I was gone? Where was he? When did my parents die?"

Harry heard Ron gulp. "Ron, can you go out and get more Firewhiskey? We'll meet you in the kitchen."

Ron nodded and left the room. It wasn't until Harry heard the front door slam that he moved.

"After you," he motioned to Regulus.

Regulus swept past him in the same clothes that Harry had pulled him out of the lake with, now dry. But he still looked better than Harry would on any other day.

Harry shivered as he followed Regulus downstairs. He was not looking forward to this conversation at all and the warmth of the Firewhiskey was long gone.

…

Hermione was restless. On her return to the common room, she had discovered that her things were still where she had left them in her haste earlier that afternoon. Therefore, she simply settled back in and continued to study Rowena Ravenclaw's journals.

But as it was creeping up to dinner time, Hermione began to worry about both Draco and Hannah's absences. The fact that Harry hadn't updated her on Regulus either unnerved her, too. She hadn't felt good leaving Harry and Ron, of all people, to deal with the emotional teen. But she hoped they could do a better job explaining the last nineteen years to him, sans the waterworks.

Then, as she sighed for the hundredth time and gently closed the journal, the portrait hole opened. The rest of her classmates had already left for dinner, so it caught her attention. Hermione turned around to see Hannah climbing through, gripping a stack of old parchment.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione said in relief, causing Hannah to jump in alarm. "I was beginning to think something had happened."

Hannah walked over to the loveseat and gently sat next to Hermione, wary of the papers in her arms. "Sorry, I was in the Founder's office going over some of Helga's things, and I got caught up in it. Were you looking for me?"

Hermione was humbled at the simplicity of her explanation. She repositioned herself in the sofa. "Actually, something did happen earlier."

"Is everything alright? Flitwick did ask where you and Draco were, but I just… It's nothing bad is it?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't actually know… but I suppose that'll be up to him," she said thoughtfully. What would Regulus' intentions be now that Voldemort was gone?

"Wait, who, what, start from the beginning please."

So, Hermione explained how to Hannah about Regulus Black and how important he had been in the defeat of Voldemort, and that he was now back from the dead, thanks to Harry and their new Founder's powers. However, Hannah's reaction was not what Hermione had expected.

Hannah sniffed. "That poor boy," she said quietly. "Sure, he's got a second chance at life without You-Know-Who, but without anyone he would have wanted to spend it with."

Hermione was stumped. She hadn't thought about it like that. The thought of Regulus' return did make her emotional, but the thought of how different this must be for him hadn't really occurred to her - especially since everything was still so similar.

"Harry and Ron are looking after him just now, but I think maybe we should check on them all sometime soon," Hermione said after a moment.

Hannah nodded. "Good, I look forward to it." They smiled at each other before Hannah exclaimed suddenly. "Oh!" she said, hitting the pile of papers in her lap with her palm. "I was going to ask you to have a look at this, see what you think?"

Hermione's interest was peaked. "Sure," she said. "What is it?"

Then, as Hannah passed over the ancient parchment and Hermione caught a glimpse at one of the diagrams, she gasped.

"What? What is it?" Hannah asked quickly.

Hermione skimmed a few lines of the text just to make sure it was what she thought it was.

"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly. But before Hannah could reply, Hermione continued. "The office, of course. Do you know what this is?"

"Do _you_? From what I've gathered, Helga was trying to make a goblet that miraculously cures people, amongst other things."

Hermione laughed. "_Trying_? She bloody well did it! I can't believe you have this!"

This time, Hannah gasped. "It actually exists?"

"Yes and no. I mean, it did, but I kind of destroyed it." Hermione couldn't believe what she was saying.

"_Are you mad_?"

That was when Hermione realised that Hannah didn't know about Voldemort and his Horcruxes.

"Ah," she said. "There's something else you should know first."

Hannah sighed. "There's always something else."

…

Narcissa's mind was slightly numbed by the effects of the gin in the glass in her hand, but she was certainly not diminished by it. Although, what her son had just said made her question its potency.

She coughed delicately before speaking. "Draco, are you entirely sure that Harry Potter brought back my cousin from death… almost twenty years after he died?"

Draco frowned. "Yes," he said. "Regulus is alive. And he met Her- Granger already."

Narcissa fought the urge to raise her eyebrows. She noted his slip silently. That was certainly curious, but it would have to wait until later.

_Reg was alive_.

"When may I visit?" Narcissa easily hid the eagerness from her voice, but her heart was pounding. In truth, she was nervous about seeing him.

She was older, while he was the same. What would he think of what she had become? What _had_ she become? Narcissa was flooded with feelings she had not experienced since she was a much younger woman.

Being the two youngest Black cousins, they had often been forced to play together, despite the three year age gap. It had been fun when he was a toddler; he was her own living doll she could dress up. But when she became a teenager, they lost all contact. That was until _he_ came along.

The Dark Lord ruined many things for Narcissa over the years, but the main of which was her family. _Both_ families. It was bittersweet to have rekindled her friendship with Reg because of the Dark Lord, but he also took her sweet cousin away from her.

Her hand tightened around the icy glass. Narcissa took a deep breath. Never again. He would never touch anything of hers again. Then, as she noticed the colour in her son's face and his casual posture, she relaxed. Draco was okay, therefore so was Narcissa.

Draco shrugged. "Tomorrow, likely. Although I should tell Potter first."

Narcissa nodded. "Tomorrow it is."

She was going to see her cousin again.

…

Hermione almost screamed. She almost kissed Hannah, too. But instead, she jumped up off of the sofa and started laughing loudly.

"Draco was right!" she exclaimed, waving one of the old pieces of Helga's parchment in Hannah's face.

Hannah leaned away warily. "I'm sure you're right, but about what?"

"Look!" Hermione said. She held the paper in front of Hannah. "_Black_," she whispered. "He was right! I don't believe it."

"You both knew about the cup?" Hannah asked, clearly confused.

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, I knew about the cup. But Draco knew that there was something about the reappearance of two members of a technically dead household."

Hannah shook her head for a different reason. "Magic continues to baffle me."

"Blacks… _Blacksmith_. Deary me, they truly weren't kidding when they say Ancient…" Hermione mumbled as she sat back down.

As she did so, Hannah stood. "I think I'm going to have to go to bed," she said. "My head actually hurts from all this knowledge. Night, Hermione."

"Goodnight," Hermione replied with a smile.

The door to the dormitories closed softly behind Hannah, and Hermione relaxed into the sofa and began to shuffle through the papers again. She was three-quarters of the way through a difficult theory when she was startled by the portrait hole opening.

…

Draco left the Manor in high spirits. His mother was happy with the news he had brought, and he had left with the knowledge that the little girl who had appeared was in fact a magical Black.

His mother had actually looked rather guilty when he had asked if there was any way Diana could be related. She had admitted that there were several Squibs who had been exiled from the Black family a generation before her.

While it was no longer appropriate to do, abandoning Squib children had been a common practice years ago. Draco's mother suggested that it was likely that Diana was a descendent of one of them. She also offered to make contact with the few she knew of.

Draco couldn't wait to tell Hermione the news. Full of gin and cheer, Draco apparated directly into the Founder's office. The sun had long set, but that didn't matter; the candles lit themselves as soon as he appeared.

He hadn't expected anyone to still be up when he stepped through the portrait hole. When Draco saw her jump, his heart began to race, both from the startlement and from whom it was.

"Draco!" she said, letting out a deep breath.

As she said his name, Draco's heart melted. She looked relieved to see him, and he just couldn't handle it.

Hermione stood and walked towards him. Draco knew that she was saying something important by the way her eyes lit up, but all he could hear was the way she had said his name over and over.

All he could see was her jubilant smile and softened hair. As Hermione came closer, Draco noticed that her school shirt was now creased, probably from her reading position, and that one sock had fallen slightly down her calf. He couldn't breath.

Then, before he could catch his breath, Hermione was directly in front of him. Dear lord, he could physically feel the happiness radiating from her. No, he couldn't do it anymore, he had to-

Draco's hand was suddenly in Hermione's hair, pulling her face close to his, and he was leaning down to close the gap. He paused, a breath away from her lips, giving her permission to pull away. His heart skipped a beat when she didn't.

His whole body screamed when he felt the softness of her lips move against his. From the first second, Draco was ruined; he would never be able to enjoy another's kiss again. Draco wanted to kiss Hermione forever and ever and ever and ever and _ever_…

* * *

**N/B:** This story is most definitely still ongoing. Life just takes over sometimes. I know it's taken 20 bloody chapters to get them to kiss, but i have this proper story in my mind, and I want to keep their character reactions true (which I hope I'm doing). Please let me know how I'm doing!

Also I just wanted to say, about the portrait situation... Walburga died long after Sirius, Regulus and Orion were all gone, which explains the awful interpretation of her (there was a piece on old Pottermore of JK's explanation on the differences between portraits i.e. how they differ if the person in question commissions it or it is commissioned after they die) as it would have likely been Kreacher who'd had it made or completed. Regulus may be annoyed that Hermione destroyed it, but realistically, he wouldn't want to see his mother like that. Yes, she was highly strung but she wasn't _always_ a screaming racist when she raised him.

As always, thank you, and please review!

_**Holly - xo**_


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